Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (35 page)

What was it she had asked?
Do you spend your own blood in his defense? Or is this the Nykur’s magic, and you only his tool?
Arianna could only pray that it meant Bolthorn was protected, somehow. If he wasn’t…

If he wasn’t, Vanadis could bring all she had spoken of to pass. Unlike an orc, Arianna had no protection against poison. Something weak, unnoticed by the Hrimthursar, would be enough to sicken her, even cause her to lose their child. Was that why she had not left with Hyndla already? Only biding her time for an opportunity to present itself? If she grew ill, Bolthorn would not obey the elders any longer. It would ruin everything. Was that her goal then? Simply to discredit him? To cause him to discredit himself?

Her head spun and she closed her eyes, breathing deep to calm herself. Bolthorn would feel the race of her heart and the pulse of her fear, and he had enough concerns tonight. She could not distract him from the feast. She could not test his will any further than she had already this day, for she did not trust that he would turn from her a second time.

She did not trust herself to let him.

The feast was held in the council hall, and even as large as it was, Hrimthursar spilled out of the longhouse into the twilight of sunset. Bolthorn did his best to speak with as many of his people as he could, offering them the blessings of the Ancestors. For the orcs, the rising of the sun signaled the beginning of a new year, and Bolthorn’s failings were forgiven in the hope for a prosperous year. Tomorrow, the council of elders would be disbanded, each of the old orcs returning with his wife to his own village with the news of what had come to pass. Bolthorn hoped they would listen first to Grimnir before they left, that the other villages might hear truth instead of lies.

The women of the villages would choose which elders to send back and new representatives to replace those judged too old or too foolish to continue in such service. It was not only the elders who brought back news, and often it was the opinion of their wives and the Gythja herself which weighed more heavily in deciding who had served well. And when the elders returned before the month’s end, they would bring with them the approval or disapproval of their village for the Gothi.

Of the four Hrimthursar villages, Bolthorn needed the approval of three or leadership would pass to the council, which would choose a new Gothi based upon the wishes of their people. Most often, a Gothi served into old age, then retired to the council, for they were chosen carefully for their strengths. That both the Hrim-Gothi and the Vid-Gothi might be replaced in the same year was sure to cause much debate and more discomfort. Bolthorn took solace in the fact that it was for Vanadis’s interference, and the Gothi’s willingness to allow it, that the Vid-Gothi would be replaced, and at least this village knew it was so, even if the elders did not carry the news home.

Still, he was not certain if his own village would support his leadership, but perhaps Grimnir’s reason would balance Hyndla’s bitterness. If the council would hear him.

If Vanadis had not already convinced them they should not.

Bolthorn did not know how she might accomplish it, for Grimnir was well known and respected by all who knew him, in this village and the others. He had been too young to be chosen as Gothi when Bolthorn had been given the honor, but if Vanadis had succeeded with her poison, Grimnir would likely be his replacement. His wife was Fenja, sister to Vid-Gythja Menja, and none would question her fitness either, which was more than could be said for Arianna.

Yet Grimnir supported Bolthorn’s leadership and showed it, remaining by his side throughout the feast but for when he met with the individual elders, asking for his chance to speak before they were disbanded. And Bolthorn watched Vanadis, not only to see which elders she courted, but to ensure she did not leave without his notice. If she slipped away tonight, there would be no one to protect Arianna. No one to witness that she had bothered his wife at all.

“Narvi.” Bolthorn caught the boy by the shoulder as he passed. Like their parents, he cursed Vanadis for drawing his sister, Hyndla to the Vala, rather than Bolthorn for marrying elsewhere. “If you see the Vala leave the hall for any reason, send someone to tell me and follow her.”

“Of course, Gothi,” Narvi said. “Should I watch Hyndla, too?”

Bolthorn glanced over the room. Grimnir was speaking quietly with Hyndla, having drawn her from the banquet tables. His cousin’s expression showed no strain, and though Hyndla did not smile, nor did she sneer. She was hurt and angry, to be sure, but Bolthorn did not think she would strike at Arianna. Not while he could not see it to respond.

“Just the Vala,” he decided.

“Yes, Gothi!” And then Narvi disappeared into the crowd, reemerging somewhat nearer to Vanadis among a group of his friends.

Barring his own departure to guard Arianna himself, he had done what he could, and he did not dare do more. Eistla would go to check on her, bringing a share of the feast for her evening meal, and Bolthorn felt certain no other would trouble his wife. They were too concerned she would bewitch them if they so much as met her eyes. But he was anxious all the same and he did not know why. Perhaps because he would not be free to speak with her as he had the past three nights. Or perhaps it was knowing that tomorrow, the elders would leave, and they still had not released him from this fool promise.

He did not know how he would last a full month, but he must. And as much as he resented the elders for what they had done, he would not let his people fall into the thrall of Vanadis. The Hrimthursar must remain free, and he would do what he must to ensure it.

For Arianna’s sake as much as their own.

She did not sleep, could not sleep, for fear that Eistla would return changed, or Bolthorn. Vanadis had been welcome at the feast, and Arianna could not help but worry for those who attended it. Nor did it escape her that the elders, for fear of bewitchment, had kept her away, and welcomed the elf-witch instead.

It was late, and still when she reached for Bolthorn, she felt only his distraction. Eistla had come and gone with food for her long ago, but Arianna had eaten none of it, afraid of poison. Even if it did not affect their child, it would still cause trouble for Bolthorn, and she wanted none. Vanadis would not use her against him. Would not use her at all.

She paced in circles around the hearth, waiting for Eistla to return. From what Bolthorn’s mother had told her, the Gothi and Gythja did not leave the feast until the last of the villagers had fallen asleep in their cups or gone to their beds, but by the look of the sky through the smoke hole, it was nearly dawn. At last she heard Eistla outside, and breathed relief. Soon Bolthorn would be in his bed, and if he reached for her, he would feel her awake, waiting and eager.

Arianna?

She almost wept to hear the sound of his voice, even in her thoughts.
Bolthorn!

The warmth of his love washed over her fear, and she fell to her knees before the hearth, uncaring if Eistla found her there. Relief made her too weak to go farther just yet. Not until she had told him.

What’s happened?

Bolthorn, this morning—when I spoke with Vanadis. I tried to tell your mother, but the words fouled on my tongue. The things she said.
She sobbed aloud, her heart pounding and her head thick with pain, as if it had swollen too large for her skull.

Shh
, Bolthorn said, and some of the pain bled away.
I’m here. You must try to tell me, even if it pains you.

She breathed deeply, steadying her thoughts and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat. Even and strong. He was always strong.
She thinks I’m protecting you from her magic, with Fossegrim’s help. She said I have to go back. That she wants the mountain sealed and your dream of peace buried. She threatened to kill our child and you as well, to make me leave.

The door opened, Eistla home at last. Arianna struggled to her feet, but when she turned, it was not Eistla in the doorway. Vanadis sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope you’d be asleep. Neither you nor Bolthorn seem capable of acting as you should.”

Arianna?
But the thought came as if from a distance, and she pushed it away. He could not come. She could not call to him.

“A shame you didn’t eat.” Vanadis said. “All of this would have gone much easier for you.”

She stepped back. “Eistla will be here any moment.”

Vanadis smiled. “If I had known her son would be this much trouble, I would have let him die in his mother’s womb.”

“When Eistla arrives—”

“Eistla is asleep in the council hall, where she will remain until I think it time to wake her. Do you have any idea how many Hrimthursar I’ve healed? How much blood they have spilled climbing about on this mountain? Nykur should have chosen a wiser tool.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not the Nykur’s tool. I don’t know anything about blood magic.”

“Do you know how many times Bolthorn should have died? I realized after the third time that the Ancestors were protecting him, so I sent him to your people when he got in my way, beyond the reach of the Vala. No one to heal him there, and a whole race happy to see him dead. I even gave the king, your father, a little magic to see it done. But you saved him with your blood. How many times? I should have known better than to believe you when you said he had died.”

She swallowed. Had he really been so close to death so many times? The river, the fall, his birth, and then her father’s noose—her father’s magic, too, the poisoned knife, and the cold of the mountain before the quartz had granted him passage. “It wasn’t a lie.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.” She smiled. “It’s not your fault, Princess. I should have gone to find his body myself, but it hardly matters, now. Bolthorn has lost the faith of his people for love of you and Sinmarra has agreed to release my brother. I’ll be forgiven for consorting with orcs and welcomed home. Easy enough to rid myself of Bolthorn once this is finished.”

“And me?” she asked, her throat thick.

“You’ll belong to Sinmarra, Princess, along with the rest of your kind.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bolthorn did not wait for her to answer. He had felt her fear, sharp and wrenching, and that was enough. He took her father’s dagger, not bothering with more than his trousers for clothing, and nearly tripped over Narvi when he opened the door.

“Eistla fell asleep where she was standing. Fell right over. And Vanadis left her there. The sound of her head striking the hearth stone, Gothi, it was all wrong. The Vala should have known!”

He grabbed the boy by the shoulders, all but shaking him. “Where did she go?”

“Toward Eistla’s. I tried to tell Hyndla to fetch you, but she said she’d follow instead, and the Gythja’s blood is staining the floor!”

Bolthorn growled. His mother or Arianna. Had Vanadis done it on purpose? But he knew nothing of healing. He could do nothing for Eistla but weep. “Wake your mother. Send her to the Gythja, and then find Grimnir and send him to me. Tell them both to hurry. Tell them everything you saw.”

“But where are you going?” Narvi asked.

“To stop Vanadis!” he called back as he ran. Before she stole his wife again.

Or worse.

“Witch!”

Hyndla stood in the doorway. Arianna stumbled back. Without Vanadis’s gaze locked to hers, relief flooded her body. And she was aware of Bolthorn, his fury, the race of his heart and the agony of his thoughts. Something had happened. Something else.

“You swore it was a lie,” Hyndla said. “You said she was bespelling him. That you’d always guarded him, as the Ancestors asked. You said the Hrimthursar were safe!”

“They are, Hyndla,” Vanadis said. “And what’s more, Bolthorn will be yours again, if you will it. I’ll help you win him back.”

“No, Hyndla.”
If you will it.
Arianna knew those words too well. “She speaks of magic, not love!”

Vanadis glared at her, and her body froze, her tongue thickening in her mouth. “You will speak when spoken to, Princess.”

She jerked against bonds she could not see and sparks of pain burst in her mind, filling her eyes and blurring the room. Arianna fell to her knees and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

“What have you done to her?” Hyndla demanded.

“She never should have crossed the mountain, Hyndla. It would be irresponsible of me to leave her here. I have tried every peaceful means, fought with all your elders. It cannot wait any longer. Look at all the trouble she has already caused your people. Bolthorn in disgrace, Bolvarr dead! Even Eistla has been corrupted.”

“You left Eistla for dead.” Hyndla’s hands were fists. “You saw her fall, heard her head meet stone, and did nothing!”

Vanadis sighed. “The Vala are not meant to heal bumps and bruises.”

“Eistla’s blood soaks the earth,” Hyndla snarled. “And you turn our neighbors into slaves of Sinmarra!”

Oh, Bolthorn. Bolthorn, your mother, too!
Arianna shuddered. She had brought so much pain to his family. So much pain to him. He did not answer. And why should he after what she had caused.

“For Ingvifreyr, my brother,” Vanadis said, her voice cool. “Ingvifreyr, who will welcome all the orcs home! I have done all of this for you, Hyndla, for your people. Do you not see? I want us to be together, family once more. You need never live in night again, Hyndla, if you would but let me pass.”

Hyndla’s eyes narrowed, her face flushed darker green in the dawn light. “Do you truly believe that any orc would accept such a gift, paid for in so much blood?”

Vanadis smiled. “You worry about the humans, I know. But that is why I would return Arianna. With her magic, she can save them. She will know Sinmarra for what she is and unite her people against such evil. It is but a ruse, Hyndla. Arianna and her people will defeat Sinmarra once and for all.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Bolthorn said, stepping out from the shadows by the door. He took in the room with one glance. Arianna knelt beside the fire, her face streaked with tears, Vanadis standing beside her in her white robes and Hyndla, between them and the door, her body tense. “Hyndla, go. Wake the elders. Tell them everything.”

The smile on Vanadis’s face twisted into a sneer. “You.”

Arianna
—he opened his hand, reached for her, but she only trembled, her expression lined with grief and strain. She met his gaze, and he felt her struggle, her pain. As he had felt it before, when she tried to speak of the things Vanadis had said.

“Free her,” Bolthorn growled. “Free her, or I will slit your throat and she will be made free by your death.”

Vanadis let out a long, slow hiss. Her fingers twitched, and Arianna fell with a cry against the hearth.

He lurched toward her, too slow. Arianna reached forward, trying to stop herself, her hands meeting only red hot coals. She screamed and he caught her, tearing her back, falling with her away from the flames.

“Vanadis,” she gasped between sobs. Her hands were red and black with ash, already blistering with the burns.

“Shh,” he said. Vanadis had fled, but she would not get far. “Grimnir waits outside.”

“She said she had their blood.” She struggled in his arms, pushing him away. “She said she has their blood! You’re the only one she can’t control, Bolthorn.”

He hesitated still, though she had forced him back, cradling her hands before her chest, tears spilling down her cheeks. He growled, the understanding coming slowly through the haze of his concern and the pain he leached from her mind against the burns.

“You have to go.”
It has to be you, Bolthorn.
“I’m safe enough, but you must stop her.”

It tore at his heart, but he turned and ran.

“Vanadis!” he roared.

Grimnir lay on the ground as if asleep. If there had been a scuffle, it had barely slowed her, for she was already near the base of the village. He followed, not allowing himself to pause over Grimnir. Hyndla would return, he knew. Or the elders. Grimnir would be found and given help. More and better than what Bolthorn could provide.

The other Hrimthursar were already stirring, and his shout brought them outside, staring as he passed.

“Vanadis has betrayed the Gythja!” Bolthorn called to them. “Hold her!”

She spun, her eyes wild. “Your Gothi is bewitched by his bride!”

The orcs who had moved toward her stopped, hesitating, and Bolthorn growled. This race would not be won with words, and Vanadis had begun running again, her hands clutching at her robes to keep from tripping as she fled.

With bare feet, Bolthorn had better purchase on the ice, and Vanadis did not know the ground as he did. Elves were fleet of foot, but orcs were stronger, and Bolthorn need not fumble with his clothes. He leapt from the path onto the ice-covered snow when one of the Hrimthursar reached out to slow him, and ducked behind a hut as Vanadis glanced back. Let her think he had been caught.

But sunlight spilled over the snow, red and glowing. Another orc grabbed him, jerking at his arm, and Bolthorn wrenched free, aided by the rime that coated his skin. He cursed the dawn, wishing for the dark of winter to hide him in shadow. When he looked behind him, he saw his people, grouped as if dazed. As if they did not know their own minds. He ran faster, leaving the village behind at last.

Vanadis was making for the cliff where Heidrek had kept his watch. She could not mean to run all the way to the Vidthursar. But the Vala knew the rock, and knew too, how to bend it to their will. He was so close he could hear the ragged draw of her lungs in the cold air, the rapid pulse of her heart. She smelled like blood and steel, and then she was gone.

One moment she scrabbled among snow and rock, fighting through the drift toward the switch back and the stone outcrop that marked the path, and the next she had disappeared before his eyes. He caught the stone to slow himself, studying the snow over the sedge. Red sunlight sank into black between the jutting rocks. No larger than a fox den, but her trail stopped.

He pressed his palm to the stone and found it warm. The Elvish words tripped his tongue and he cleared his throat, murmuring them a second time, before he realized he had shed no blood. Bolthorn cursed himself and blooded his palm with Gunnar’s dagger, touching the rock again.

Please
, he begged it.
Please, by the Ancestors, by all that is good and holy, let me pass!

Arianna closed her eyes, biting her lip against the throbbing pain in her hands. She leaned against the wall and forced herself to breathe. Steady, like Bolthorn. Like Bolthorn, whose heartbeat thundered in her ears. She shivered in the chill of the wind as he ran, feeling the frost on his skin as her own. So cold, but it eased the burning of her palms and she sighed relief.

“Princess?”

Her eyes flashed open and Hyndla stood before her, an orc boy at her side. Hyndla knelt, reaching for her hands. Arianna flinched at her touch.

“Narvi, gather the cleanest snow you can find. Quickly.” The boy darted back outside, and Hyndla searched her face. “You are more fortunate than the Gythja, Princess, if all you suffered are these burns.”

“Bolthorn?” She could feel him still, his heart slowing, and her hands burned white hot again. “Did he reach her? Did he stop her?”