“Well, then you are better off praying to the countless number of gods you know, for I assure you the odds of just one of them hearing you is far greater.”
“M’lord! M’lord!” A servant called from his sprinting horse. “Your mercenaries are here! They are here!”
Tait whipped his head around at Dægan and then up to the clear blue sky above. “What did you say in there?”
Chapter Twenty-six
Shallow ditches just large enough for kindling and wide enough for a man were dug. There was no time for building piers—no time for sentiment, or ceremony. Time enough only to bury the dead in the sole interest of sending them speedily to the Afterlife.
Dægan spoke his words to each man, pausing longer at Vegard and Steinar’s bodies, before lighting the site with a torch. And not the words of Odin, as his men were chanting, but of his seemingly newfound faith. He prayed that each brave man would be forgiven of their sins, and granted the peace he so wished for them.
“I will not forget the sacrifices you all have made for me,” he whispered as the smoke billowed into the air. “There is no greater love than what you have done for me this day. May God have mercy on all of you, my brothers-in-arms.”
Dægan bowed his head humbly and slowly hobbled inland to where the Irish king and his loyal subjects watched from a distance.
Tait easily caught up with Dægan and asked, “Where are you going? Your mercenaries grow impatient.”
“I need to speak to Nevan. Tell the men I will be ready in a moment.”
Tait fell behind and did as he was instructed.
“My king,” Dægan said respectfully upon approach. “May I have a word with you? Alone.”
Nevan rubbed the corner of his mouth and dismounted silently. He said not a word to the wounded warrior, nor did he feel like making the effort to follow him, considering another fleet of strange men had landed on his shores without his permission. He would demand an explanation and give censure without leniency, this he vowed. But aside from his irritation, he was still quite curious as to how one man, who had suddenly lost everything, just gained an entire army in only a few hours’ time.
Dægan turned around when he was further away from the company and looked at Nevan, pausing for a long time before speaking. “I was told that you, too, lost many men.”
“Aye.”
“I will help you with your dead.”
“Thank you, but my dead need not your help.”
Dægan realized the king was holding back a tremendous amount of resentment, and rightly so, for he had truly taken advantage of the monarch’s loyalty. He nervously cleared his throat and bared his soul wide open. “I was wrong to expect your friendship, when I never returned it myself. I was wrong to put my wife in your charge and not tell you what you were up against. I never lied to you, Nevan, I hope you will believe that. But mistakenly, I never confided in you either. And even now, I know not why—pride, perhaps. But I never meant to bring all this upon you and your people. You saved my men,” Dægan said gratefully. “You saved me. You took a knife for me. And all I did was scorn you. I failed you and your people this day. I will not beg for your forgiveness, as I deserve it not.”
“You are right. You deserve not such a thing,” Nevan nodded in agreement, trying to remain steadfast in his attempt at a cold facade. He was failing, as it was not like him to kick a man who was down, but it didn’t stop him from letting a few uncomfortable moments pass. Nevan sighed. “You may not deserve my forgiveness, but ‘tis already been given you. So who are these men?”
Dægan stumbled on how to explain this one. “Mercenaries from the Hebrides. I sent for them a sennight ago so that I may…well, I needed…” He looked away. “I sent for them so that I could safely pay Mara’s father a visit…the king of Connacht.”
Nevan could not hide his astonishment. “My enemy? You married my enemy’s daughter?”
Dægan nodded. “So ‘twould seem. But I swear to you, I knew it not at the time.”
Nevan’s eyes widened as Dægan witnessed his racing awareness. “I know this man. And I know he would never marry his daughter to a Northman. Ever! So what in God’s name did you offer him for his consent?”
“Nothing. There was no consent. He thinks she has been taken.”
“No consent! How could you do this? How could you do this to me? I want not my people drawn into another war, especially with him!”
“Rest easy, Sire. This is not your war to be fought. He knows not who took her, much less who my allies are. I assure you, your name shall never escape me.”
Nevan paced. “Is this the trouble you had in Luimneach?”
“A small part of it, I suppose.”
“Does that small part also include the reason for Eirik’s death?”
“Aye.”
Nevan shook his head. “I cannot begin to imagine the twisted and no doubt inescapable web you are caught in! And I would wager ‘tis so grand, you have not even the time to explain it! Frankly, I want not to know. I think I have heard enough!” Nevan turned his back on Dægan and took another look at the wreckage of the Northman’s home. “Actually, there is one thing I must know. Why your twin brother, Domaldr? Where does he fit in with this king? It makes no sense!”
Dægan sighed. “Domaldr wants the princess so he can take Connacht. Making me suffer is just an additional benefit.”
“And now you are going to do the same to him.”
Dægan fidgeted in his place, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the king’s questions, if not his blunt judgments. “What I am going to do is get Mara back. I just want her safe. That is all I care about.”
Nevan took a long breath. “You need five hundred men for that?”
“To be certain? Aye.”
“And what of your brother?”
“What of him, Nevan?”
“What do you plan for him?”
Dægan rubbed his forehead impatiently. “What do you want me to say? That I feel even slightly guilty for wanting him dead? Well, I do not, and there is not a man here who can say Domaldr does not deserve death!”
“And who will do it? Who amongst these many will do the deed?”
“What difference does it make?”
“The difference is that your brother’s blood will not be on your hands. Will you sleep better that way?”
“So what if I do? Does that make me so wretched?”
“It makes you just like him.”
Dægan clenched his jaw and spoke snidely. “I am his twin.”
“You both may share similar physical features, but you have your own heart and your own mind. Those two things are what separate great men from savage men. Let not your brother determine the man you are!” Nevan took a step closer. “A wise man once told me that only men can be convinced that greatness comes from winning the fight. That men are too often placed on higher ground because of the number of battles they have won or the number of silver coins they have in their pockets. When in fact, greatness comes from things we cannot hold in our greedy hands. Things that are beyond our destructive reach. Is that not what you said to me? There is no doubt that Domaldr is well within your destructive reach, especially with the grand numbers you boast now. But ‘twill take a greater man to turn the other cheek.”
“Are you suggesting I forget all about what he has done? To let him have Mara, her father’s kingdom, and everything else he took from me without punishment?”
“Heavens, no!” Nevan said. “I am not denying his crime, or the penalty he faces. But he is your brother. Savage or not.”
“I have tried to make myself believe that, even after the shame and hardship he caused my father years ago. But I cannot anymore! He will pay for what he has done, I assure you. And whether it be by my hand or by one of the five hundred here, he will die!”
Nevan heard the decisiveness in Dægan’s voice. “It seems your mind is set. And what of your wife’s father? What do you plan for him?”
“Like I told Mara, I w
ill make amends. I have to.”
“Forget not that I once tried, too…and lost.”
“I know,” Dægan replied sympathetically. “But I have not much choice, now do I?”
“And what should I tell your mother?”
“She knows of what Domaldr has done?”
Nevan crossed his arms. “It was hard to keep it from her. There were still straggling rumors that ‘twas you who did all this. I could not let your mother think that, could I?”
“How did she take it—knowing Domaldr is alive and still wearing his betrayal like a crown of jewels?”
“Not very well. But better once she knew your good name remained in tact. You really should speak with her before you leave.”
Dægan glanced at his war-thrilled mercenaries, his mind filled with dread. “I cannot. I cannot bear to look my mother in the eye right now, not when I have thoughts of killing her son. She is a smart woman and she will figure out what I aim to do. I know not how long I will be gone, but she will need comfort. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
Dægan thought for a moment, more seriously than before. What he was preparing to do was extremely dangerous given that his twin brother had already made a zealous attempt at killing both him and everyone he loved. He knew Domaldr wouldn’t resist trying to kill him again, especially once he found out he failed the first time. “There is a chance I may not return. Will you also tell her that I love her?”
Nevan nodded in affirmation. “I have also sent for a few things you will need for your journey. Plenty of clean linens, dried meat, breads, nuts, that sort of thing. I believe you will need weaponry since all of yours has been taken. I will send for my best armor and sword, and I will not listen to any disputes on the matter. Consider it an order.”
Dægan felt grateful and guilty all at the same time, for the king—even through the cloak-and-dagger weight of resentment and anger—still bestowed upon him his loyalty, along with a surplus of generous gifts. Before he could express his gratitude, Nevan fell quickly into another subject.
“Short of being too forward, Dægan, I could not help but notice in the past few years that all your men, and even some of the women, carry trinkets of your war god on their belts.”
“Aye,” Dægan said skeptically.
“I also could not help but notice that in the past few days, yours is gone.”
Dægan looked at the empty belt around his waist. “I have not much use for good luck charms. As you can see, they do me no good.”
“I heard you went to the church today.” Nevan said, placing his hand on the chieftain’s shoulder. “‘Tis my guess men go not to churches in search of luck.”
“I knew not what I was looking for.”
Nevan looked out over the vast numbers of men on his shore. “It seems to have been a fruitful visit for you.”
Dægan stared intently, unsure of the king’s insinuation. “I was told your God works not in that way.”
“Quite possibly, He does not. Nonetheless, all is not lost for you. You have your ships. You have your army. You have everything you need to get Mara back. But above all that, you may even have found favor with God, for He now commands a swift and strong wind. Feel it, and know He is with you.”
Nevan opened his hand and a string of wooden beads with a dangling cross hung from his fingers. “Keep this with you, Dægan. Perhaps ‘twill help you make the right decision once you have your brother at the end of your sword.”
****
Dægan sat on a chest aboard the longship denoted specifically for his command by Havelock, one of the two hired chieftains. The ship was quite a bit larger than any of the drakkars he used to own, for it boasted at least twelve oars on each side and held as many as forty-eight men for rowing. The sail was twice the size of his, but the ship itself lacked the menacing serpent heads Dægan had come to admire. In their stead, were carved posts with gold weathervanes decorated with various animals whose arms, legs, and heads conjoined.
Dægan looked back, verifying the presence of the other nine drakkars and the six fully loaded knarrs. They were, as he expected, following right behind him. He called for Tait.
“Aye, m’lord?”
“I have grown weary with my bones moving in my body. Help me wrap my chest before we set foot on Irish soil.”
“Dægan, with all due respect, you are in no shape to fight. You can barely move without gasping in pain. I can lead these men.”
“I know you can. But this is my wife. My brother. My fight.”
“Dægan, we may not even make it in time. What if Domaldr has decided to make war with the Irish king? We could be walking into the middle of a battle. What then?”
Dægan didn’t want to think about that possibility. He wanted to believe that the timely arrival of his mercenaries was a sign of God’s favor. That he was to be with his one true love. That beating Domaldr to the Loch Rí was more than a slim possibility—it was meant to be.
“To make war, one must face his opponent, and we both know Domaldr prefers to go for the back. He will avoid confrontation at all costs. Besides, we are heading straight for Gaillimh. Granted, we will have to go clear around the bogs, but not too far north so as to contend with the great Loch Coirib. But if we keep moving, we will not fail.”
“We cannot travel twenty-seven leagues in a day, Dægan. By the gods, ‘twould be virtually impossible in two! We have to rest sometime or none of these men will be able to lift their eyelids, much less a sword arm.”
“Forget not that Domaldr must rest, too.”
“Aye, he does. And he should be well-rested since his nights will not be cursed with thoughts of his brother hunting him down.”
“All the more reason to believe we shall arrive first. Now, help me with my ribs.”
Tait assisted his friend in removing his kirtle and tried to ignore Dægan’s groaning in the process. “You are an easy target for him, you know. Once Domaldr sees your condition, he will use it in his favor.”
Dægan eyed the obvious worry on Tait’s brow. “I know.”
“Then let me fight him,” Tait said, wrapping the first layer around Dægan’s chest.
“Nay,” Dægan said shortly. “Pull it tighter.”
“Why not?” Tait asked, tightening the next strip of cloth.
Dægan gritted his teeth and groaned against the pressure. “Because ‘tis my wife he has! I have already lost many because of my decisions, and to lose you…well—that is simply not going to happen. Furthermore, you almost lost Thordia in the fire.”
“She is hale and hearty,” Tait reminded. “And she will be safe at Nevan’s fort until we return.”
“Thordia surviving the fire was a small blessing, and you should start counting them as they do not often befall upon men like us.”
“Dægan, this talk of blessings and God is ridiculous. You cannot win this fight on your own. You see to your wife, and I will see to Domaldr.”
“Pull it tighter.”
“Are you listening to me?”
Dægan released his breath violently. “I am!”
“Then let me do this for you. Give me the chance to prove myself.”
“I know the man you are, Tait. And it is not with you that I have doubts.”
“But—“
“Nay.”
“Dægan—”
“Make me not say it again.”
Tait wrapped the cloth four more times around and then said, “I, too, can be stubborn, m’lord. Rest assured I will be right on your heels the whole time.”
Dægan half grinned and then it faded as he inspected his wrapped ribs. “Domaldr has to be killed, does he not?”
Tait raised his brow. “You are asking me?”
“I am.”
“If you are having second thoughts, Dægan, then perhaps my opinion is better left unsaid.”
“I am not having second thoughts,” Dægan said defensively. “I want him dead. I just want to know what you think.”
Dægan looked out over the blue sea, seeing the green Erin shores on the horizon. “Do you think he is capable of—well, what if he has already—”
“Wear not your mind on petty thoughts. The time will come when you will learn what Domaldr has done to your wife, and perhaps ‘twill help to ease the guilt you feel in wanting him dead. But right now, you need to keep your mind set on getting inland before he does. Mara is a strong woman and Domaldr is well aware she is more valuable alive than dead. He would not have come all this way for her if he thought her not useful.”
Dægan’s mind suddenly flashed back to when Domaldr had a hold of Mara’s throat. “Wait,” Dægan said, thinking back to the night in his longhouse. “There was a man. A dark-haired man, Irish no doubt. I think Domaldr called him…Breandán. Do you recall him?”
“Nay. Why?”
“I vaguely remember him. He came into my house and saved Mara’s life. How odd it was to see my brother give in to him.”
“What is your point?”
Dægan squeezed his eyes tighter, struggling to recall the rest. “I have the strangest feeling he spared me as well.”
“What?” Tait questioned snidely. “Those men set your longhouse on fire! They wanted you dead! Nevan was the one who spared you.”
“Nay, this man spoke to me. Aye, he spoke to me. He was trying to tell me something, but I cannot recall what he said.”
“Are you sure he was not telling you to stick your head between your legs and kiss your hairy arse goodbye?”
Dægan ignored Tait’s remark. “I remember there was urgency in his voice. He was trying to tell me something.” Dægan shook his head in disappointment. “Ah, you are right. ‘Tis probably all in my head. I was knocked unconscious and tied to a chair. I could not possibly have heard him.”
Tait looked at Dægan strangely. “You were not bound, my lord.”
“I was. I know I was. That is why Domaldr got away, or I assure you, he would not have taken two steps out of my longhouse!”
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 26