Dangerous Talents (26 page)

Dahleven, curious, turned to Hafdan.

“With no community, no family, a man must make what connections he can, or die alone,” Hafdan said.

“Are you sure you saw clearly? Wouldn’t they be more likely to prey on each other?” Ulf asked. “The nameless curs we’ve cast out broke our laws and shamed their families. It hardly seems possible that they could ally with anyone, let alone Tewakwe
skraelings
, when they betrayed their own.” Ulf had only recently ascended to his Jarldom, but he had ruled in his father’s stead for the last two years, since Koll had been crippled by fire in Jorund’s attack. He had less patience than most with Oathbreakers and Outcasts.

“How do you know that they weren’t just Tewakwe from the Confederation trading with the Outcasts?” Yngvar put in.

“We saw clearly enough, and heard more. Falsom has Heimdal’s eyes, and Lindimer…Lindy had Heimdal’s ears. They weren’t trading. They were sharpening blades, crafting arrows and bragging to each other about their latest raids. While the Renegade Tewakwe have been raiding our trade caravans and testing our borders, our Outcasts have been attacking the Confederation.”

“Truly? Perhaps the Tewakwe Confederation has joined forces with the Outcasts.”

“No. The Tewakwe holdings showed signs of raiding, and there were no Outcasts among them. They have fortified, however. They’ve narrowed the entrance to the cliffs with bulwarks of shaped stone.”

“What did they say about the raids?” Yngvar asked.

Dahleven gave Lord Yngvar a long look before answering. “We were in the drylands, in Tewakwe territory without an invitation, and not on the caravan trails, Lord Yngvar.” Dahleven paused, but comprehension didn’t dawn on Yngvar’s features. “We were there to look and listen, not to talk. Even if we had chosen to, the Tewakwe were not likely to welcome unexpected visitors after being raided by the Outcasts.”

“This isn’t just raiding for greed and gain.” Magnus said. “They’re not impulsive; they’re organized. They always attack in greater numbers, destroying what they can’t take. Someone is leading them—but to what purpose?”

“It’s obvious. Revenge. Every man stripped of his Talent and cast out is bitter and angry,” Hafdan said.

“There’s more to this, I’m confident. Bitter, angry men aren’t so careful,” Solveig countered.

“I believe they mean to turn us and the Tewakwe against each other,” Dahleven said.

“That’s ridiculous. Who would profit from that?” Ozur waved his hand dismissively.

“You would, for one.” Magni said hotly, leaning forward in this chair. “While we in the border provinces defend against raids, you and Lord Yngvar can profit by selling us the food we haven’t the time and men to provide ourselves with—especially since you won’t send any men to help us defend your fat ass.”

“You young whelp!”

“Magni!” Magnus barked. “An apology is in order.”

“I should say so!” Yngvar chimed in.

The muscles in Magni’s jaw jumped as his face reddened and the cords in his neck stood out. Dahleven thought he might strangle on the words before he got them out. “Your pardon, my Lord Ozur.”

Ozur nodded his acceptance. “Watch your tongue in the future, boy. Feuds have started for less.”

Magni’s eyes burned.

“Lord Ozur is right, Magni.” Magnus growled to his furious grandson. “You should be more careful with your words. There are more graceful ways to state the truth.”

Ozur started to rise from his chair.

“Enough!” Neven’s voice cut clean and sharp, strengthened now by a surge of his Talent. “We should no longer be asking ourselves whether we should act, but what action is necessary. You ask what purpose these attacks would serve? The answer is here, at this table. Not only are we weakened by the slow, continual loss of lives and resources, we weaken ourselves further by our bickering. We must not allow ourselves to be distracted from the real threat. It’s not the Tewakwe. We were meant to believe that, just as they must believe that we threaten them. Whoever planned this hoped we would throw our lives away fighting a profitless war against the wrong enemy. Knowing this, we are stronger, but not strong enough to fight on two fronts. Until the Tewakwe understand the deception, we face the possibility of war with them. They’ll want to stop the predation on their people as much as we do. We must arrange a parley with the Tewakwe to join forces against our common foe.”

*

“Lady Celia!” a familiar masculine voice called.

Cele startled and looked around. She’d been blindly following Thora back to her room after visiting Sevond a second time.

He’d talked about his son as he worked on a new piece of jewelry. “Sorn had a good hand with the files,” he’d said. “The boy could have been fine craftsman, but he had no heart for it.”

The gentle old man hadn’t required any response from her, so she just listened. Over two hours, the jeweler’s words had built a clear picture of the love between father and son. Though Sorn had chosen a very different path from Sevond, there’d been no resentment or rancor between them.

She’d had that kind of relationship with her mother, before she died.

Fendrikanin’s voice pulled Cele from her reflections. “Lady Celia! Well met!” Fender caught up with them and came around to face her, pausing to nod an acknowledgment to Thora.

Cele knew she was grinning foolishly, but the last time she’d seen Fender they’d all been running for their lives. She was relieved to see his impudent face again, and find him well and whole.

“I’m glad to find you here and safe,” he said, “but with Lord Dahleven as escort, I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

Safe indeed
! The memory of Dahleven’s kiss intruded, and she pushed it away.

Fender looked at her, clearly admiring the benefits of the bath and her green dress. “I am sorry indeed now, that we didn’t hurry back for the Feast last night. I would have liked to claim a dance from you.”

Cele smiled at the compliment but focused on something else. “We? Are the others back safely, too?”

“Ghav is with me. A renegade arrow bit a piece of meat from him so he won’t be dancing for a while. We left Kep and Falsom in the care of a crofter’s wife.”

“Are they badly hurt?”

“Oh no. The slug-a-beds will soon be well enough to return to Quartzholm.” Fender smiled, but his face twitched and Cele knew he was more concerned for his comrades than he admitted.

“And Ghav? He’s here? Would he like a visitor?”

“What man would decline a visit from a lovely woman?” Fender smiled with boyish charm at Thora. “I’ll escort her safely back to her rooms and your care,” he said, offering his arm to Cele.

Thora looked at them with skeptical amusement. “Don’t lose her.”

“You wound me, Thora. In all my days, I’ve not lost more than two or three young maids. And that was years ago.” Fender winked at Cele and escorted her back the way she’d come, then turned down a new hallway.

After taking several more turns, climbing then descending four staircases, they passed through a corridor lighted by a series of tall, narrow windows. The door at the end led outside, onto a stone bridge that arched high above the courtyard to another tower. Birds perched on the parapets. They took flight as Cele and Fender stepped onto the apparently seamless span. Below, the hubbub of merchants hawking their wares blended into a noisy hum. The crowd swirled and eddied in front of the various booths, pooling and growing stagnant where performers juggled on a low stage at the near end of the courtyard.

Cele stopped and looked over the edge, taking in the maelstrom of color and sound that wrapped around the corner of the castle and out of sight. The smells of cooking meat, fresh bread, and roasted nuts made her mouth water. It reminded her of a county fair. “Is it like this all the time?”

Fendrikanin looked surprised. “No, of course not. We have a market once a week, but this is five times the size of that. This is the Althing Market. The merchants have come from all over Nuvinland to profit from the gathering of the Jarls and their folk.”

The swirl of activity looked inviting. “Can we go down there?”

“I thought you wanted to visit Ghav.”

“Afterwards, I mean.”

Fender looked thoughtful. “Thora warned me not to lose you. Will you stay close? She’ll have the skin off my back if I lose track of you in that crowd.”

Cele laughed, recognizing capitulation when she heard it. “I’m a big girl, Fender.”

“That’s not the answer I want.”

Fender’s stern reply surprised her. Apparently, Fender had a touch of steel beneath his playful manner. Her laughter subsided to a smile. “I’ll stay close. And if we do get separated, we’ll meet here under the bridge. Fair enough?”

He relaxed and nodded. “Let’s go visit Ghav.”

The healer sat with his right leg propped on a chair, writing on parchment on a board in his lap. Shelves lined one wall, filled with an orderly assortment of scrolls, wood and leather bound books, boxes, and flasks. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise when Fender pulled her into the room. “Lady Celia! You look well, I see. Better than well, in fact.” He winced as he started to rise.

“No, don’t get up,” Cele said, putting out her hand to halt his movement.

Ghav settled back into his chair with a soft grunt. He looked tired and pale.

“Does it hurt very much?”

“Only when he’s gone too long without sympathy,” Fender said.

Ghav shot the younger man a dark look. “Please, be seated Lady Celia. I have a fine wine in the cupboard there,” he said, indicating the direction with his hand. “Fender, be a gentleman for once and pour a cup for the lady. And bring me that pouch, too.”

Cele jumped up from her seat. “I’ll get it.”

She handed Ghav the small leather bag. He drew a leaf from it and crumbled half into his cup. The herb looked the same as what he had dosed Sorn with. Cele’s concern grew. Ghav had quelled her pain and much of Sorn’s with just a touch. His wound must be more serious than they’d admit if he needed the herb to dull the pain.

Ghav looked up and caught Cele’s worried look before she could clear her expression. “I can’t ease my own pain as I can another’s,” he said, correctly guessing the cause of her concern.

How do Talents work, then
? Too much had been happening for Cele to wonder about it. And if these people were descended from Vikings, where had these Talents come from? People from her world didn’t have them.

A knock forestalled Cele’s questions. Fender opened the door to a man dressed in what Cele had come to recognize as Kon Neven’s livery: a green suede tunic with the hawk embroidered on the left breast.

“Lady Gudrun invites Lady Celia to attend her in her chambers,” the man announced.

Fender’s eyebrows rose and Ghav sat up straighter.

Apparently, this invitation was something significant. “Who is Lady Gudrun?”

Apparently, she’d surprised everyone again. Even the messenger looked at her with a startled expression.

Ghav answered her question. “Kon Neven’s wife.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cele’s escort brought her to a narrow door and announced her to a small group of women, then stepped back so she could enter. The oldest woman in the room immediately drew her attention. Her face and figure were softened by middle age, but her calm dignity made her strength unmistakable. Light from tall slender windows highlighted threads of red, gold, and silver in the medium brown coil of braids on her head.

Dahleven’s mother
.

Cele saw the resemblance in Lady Gudrun’s mouth when she smiled her welcome.
Not that Dahleven smiles much
. He had his father’s eyes and brow, but definitely his mother’s firm chin. Cele remembered seeing Gudrun on Neven’s arm last night, though she’d paid attention only to the Kon.
Because of his mind control.

I wonder what tricks
she
has up her sleeve
.

The softly appointed sitting room showed a woman’s touch. Flowers bloomed in pots with a black on white Mimbres motif; the chairs, grouped in a circle around a low table, were well upholstered with soft cushions. Cele recognized Ingirid and Aenid. And Dahleven’s wife.

Cele pushed the shock aside.
Of course she’s here with the women of the family
.

Gudrun rose and came to Cele, taking her hands and drawing her into the group. “Welcome to Quartzholm, Lady Celia. We’re about to enjoy a little afternoon refreshment. Please, join us.” Gudrun indicated a chair next to her own. Ingirid sat on Cele’s right, and Aenid sat just beyond her mother. She looked subdued, with dark circles under her eyes.

Cele broke away from Aenid’s gaze and looked across the table—straight into the eyes of Dahleven’s wife. They were the same smoky gray as his.

The young woman smiled warmly at her. “I’m Kaidlin. I regret we didn’t have a chance to meet last night. My little one won’t go to sleep without me, I’m afraid, and I arrived late to the Feast.”

“My apologies,” Gudrun said. “I knew you’d met Ingirid and Aenid already, so I assumed you knew Kaidlin, as well. We’re not very formal when it’s just family.”

Cele smiled at Gudrun and then turned back to Kaidlin. The warmth in the young woman’s face made it easier to return her smile than Cele would have expected. “I left early myself. I’d had a full day.”

A servant came into the room and deposited a large tray filled with cold roast fowl, dried fruit, bread, and three kinds of cheese on the low central table. Gudrun herself poured a pale wine into a silver goblet and handed it to Cele.

Some afternoon snack
.

“You’d had several full days, from what I hear,” Gudrun said. “I hope you’ll tell us about your experiences.”

Gudrun’s interest felt genuine, but Cele’s track record of misjudgments made her wary.
At least Gudrun’s approach is smoother than her husband’s
. “I certainly found more adventure than I’d planned on when I left home—what is it now? A week ago?”
Has it really only been a week
?