Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (99 page)

Arne mounted, then they were galloping past silent, blood-splattered troops just beginning to return to the camp, many shouldering makeshift litters that held wounded men whose agonized moans cut like knives into Zora. Seeing Rurik in each warrior’s pain-wracked face, she finally had to shut her eyes against them.

Zora could imagine what a bitter moment it was for Grand Prince Yaroslav as he and his phalanx of warriors were ushered into the great hall of a palace that had once belonged to his viceroy, only to find his brother waiting for them upon a gilt throne. As for herself, any joy she might have felt in seeing her father again was tempered by the horror of the battlefield they had skirted on their way to Chernigov, grisly images she could not shake even as they approached the raised dais.

She now understood why it might be difficult to find someone in such carnage. In places where the fighting had been fiercest, the living had waged battle on top of the fallen until bodies were heaped upon bodies six or seven deep. Yet if she began to believe for an instant that Rurik might be lying at the bottom of one of those lifeless piles, she would go mad—

“Zora!”

She started as her father left his throne and rushed toward her, his thick arms outstretched. Then she was smothered within his bearish embrace until she feared she might faint. Finally he pulled away to look into her eyes, and in his ruddy face she could see his overwhelming relief.

“So you were in Novgorod all along.”

She nodded, knowing he would want a full explanation but feeling too numb to speak. Thankfully, his mind seemed to be upon the pressing matters at hand, and leading her to the dais, he gestured for a chair to be placed near to the throne. She was no sooner seated than he turned his attention back to his somber visitors, his expression becoming as grim as Yaroslav’s.

“You were wise to return my daughter to me, elder brother. Any agreement we might reach tonight would have been threatened if harm had come to her.”

“I say the same about those men you hold captive in your prison,” countered Yaroslav. “If God has been merciful, one of them is the husband of your daughter, Lord Rurik of Novgorod.”

An astonished rumble went up from the retainers flanking Mstislav’s throne, but he waved his hand for silence and fixed his gaze upon Zora.

“Is this true?”

“Yes, Father,” she said shakily, seeing the many questions in his eyes. “My husband has not yet been found and it is our hope that no injury has befallen—”

“Our hope, daughter?” His expression tightened. “By such words, I might think you now side with my enemies.”

Zora had to swallow against the hard lump in her throat; her father had never before spoken to her so harshly. Yet he must have read in her eyes what he feared. His enraged roar shattered the weighty stillness in the hall.

“If this Lord Rurik is in my prison, bring him to me!”

“There are others whose condition I would know,” Yaroslav demanded as Mstislav’s guards hastened across the hall to do his bidding. “At least fifteen of my senior warriors have not yet been accounted for, all of them Varangians who would have fought on no matter that a retreat was sounded.”

“Very well! Bring however many of these men you can find!” Mstislav shouted after his guards as he glared at his brother. Then he lowered his voice and leaned forward upon his throne. “Your concern for your
druzhina
is touching, Yaroslav, yet I will not wait for these men to begin our discussion. You stated in your message that you wished to seek a compromise and I agreed to hear you, my promise given for your safety while in my city. Now what have you to offer me?”

As all eyes turned to the grand prince, Zora’s were fixed upon the doors through which the guards had disappeared. How she wished she could have gone with them to search for Rurik! But she gasped along with everyone else when Yaroslav finally spoke in his great booming voice.

“Half of Rus, to be divided along the course of the Dnieper River. I will retain the side with Novgorod and Kiev, while everything else will be yours.”

Zora glanced at her father to find him pondering Yaroslav’s words while his retainers whispered to each other behind him. If at first Mstislav had been surprised, now his narrowed eyes were shrewd.

“Only half, my brother? After my victory today—”

“A narrow victory that could have easily gone to my favor!” interrupted Yaroslav, his face flushed red with anger. “Think carefully before you allow your greed to overwhelm you, Mstislav. My forces are still strong enough to fight, as are yours, yet a lengthy war will only deplete much needed men and resources. Meanwhile our enemies abound, barbaric nomads in the east, neighboring Slavs to the west, and Patzinaks in the south, all of them watching like carrion crows for any sign of weakness so they can swoop down and attack. If we fail to form an alliance this night, neither of us will have the forces left to fight them.”

Again a charged silence reigned, everyone waiting upon Mstislav’s answer. Zora knew her father to be an ambitious man, yet the wisdom behind the grand prince’s argument could not be discounted. Wondering what path he would choose, she was distracted by a side door opening nearby. Her heart skipped a beat as Hermione entered the hall in a swirl of purple silk.

Their eyes met. From the agitation in her half sister’s gaze, Zora realized that Hermione must have heard of her arrival and come at once from the
terem
. Yet Zora found herself abruptly dismissed as Hermione scanned the hall for someone, her porcelain features soon registering her disappointment.

Ivan. She was looking for Ivan, Zora thought, struck by a sudden wave of pity. But it faded when Hermione fixed a gaze of icy hatred upon her as if daring her to say a word about the truth behind her abduction.

“Very well, my brother, I agree to your compromise. Half of Rus, with my throne to remain here in Chernigov.”

Zora’s attention turned back to her father, who had left the dais to clasp hands solemnly with Yaroslav. As scribes were called forth to prepare the necessary documents, a great swell of conversation erupted among those present that only heightened as the huge double doors at the end of the hall swung open to admit a line of chained prisoners.

Rising shakily, Zora had never known such a clash of hope and fear. Mother of Christ, where was Rurik? She counted five warriors, then eight, but he was nowhere among them. Oh, please, please, tell her it wasn’t so…

“Rurik!”

Spying him suddenly in a second group of prisoners, his bright blond hair like a beacon in the torchlight, Zora’s hoarse cry echoed around the hall. She wanted to run to him but her father’s dark glance kept her rooted in place. With her heart pounding as hard as any drum, she watched impatiently as a path was opened for Rurik and the other prisoners. Her eyes drank in the sight of him.

He was limping, dried blood streaking his left leg, but he appeared sound. Even the cold hardness of his gaze could not dampen her joy. Imagining what must be going through his mind to see her standing on the dais, she could no longer heed her father’s warning. She hurried down the steps as the prisoners were made to halt in a line behind the grand prince. “Zora…”

Ignoring Mstislav’s angry voice, she moved undaunted to Rurik’s side, warmed by the astonishment in his eyes. Yet she said nothing to him, boldly facing her father and his retainers instead.

“Hear me, all of you! This is my husband, Lord Rurik of Novgorod, the man I love more than life. I will see no harm come to him!” She glanced at Rurik, her voice breaking. “Can you find it in your heart to believe me now?”

Shaken by her pronouncement, Rurik had never felt more humbled, the plea shining in Zora’s eyes chasing all doubt and bitterness from his mind. And here he had been thinking the worst of her up until a moment ago, thinking how happy she must be now that she would finally be free of him!

By Odin, he had not only been a fool, but a blind one! That she could still want him after everything he had done, everything he had said…

“No harm will come to him, my daughter, that I swear,” Mstislav interjected before Rurik could answer her. “But your marriage to this man must be annulled. I gave my word to Lord Ivan that you would become his bride. He went in search of you to Novgorod. I can only believe that he must still be there—”

“He’s not in Novgorod, Father,” said Zora, sickened that he would even suggest to end her marriage. “I have so much to tell you…I don’t know where to start. Ivan did find me and I agreed to return to Chernigov with him, but only because I thought it would be a way to help my husband if he had need of me after the battle. Then Ivan and his men were murdered by thieves at one of the portage trails. I managed to escape but—”

“Ivan is dead?”

Zora spun to find Hermione standing only a few feet away, her lovely face stricken with horror.

“Ivan is dead?” Her voice was shrill and her gaze skipped from Zora to Rurik to her father and then back to Zora.

“Yes. I’m truly sorry, Hermi—”

Her words were cut off by a howl of such rage that Zora felt a shiver of fear.

“You spawn of a whore! Bastard filth! If I’ve lost my only love, I’ll find myself in hell before you have yours!”

Zora saw the flash of a knife at the same moment Hermione lunged wildly for Rurik.

“No!” Without a thought, she hurled herself against him, blocking Hermione’s attack with her body even as she felt Rurik trying to shove her out of harm’s way.

“By God! Zora!”

Hampered by his chains, he was too late. She met his eyes as the blade sank into her flesh and she screamed once while all around them became confusion. People were shouting, her father and uncle were shouting, Hermione demanding hysterically that her captors release her. Then Zora felt her knees buckle beneath her and she was sinking, even though Rurik held her in his arms. Oh, it hurt. It hurt so much.

“Zora! God help me, Zora!”

She knew he was calling to her but she couldn’t answer, her tongue grown thick and heavy. She saw him lift his hand from her side to find blood dripping through his fingers, and his face went deathly pale. Through a ringing that was growing louder in her ears, she could hear Hermione ranting at her as if from a great distance, her piercing voice becoming fainter and fainter.

“Bastard whore! Bitch! I should have poisoned you instead of selling you to that cursed slaver! I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

That was the last thing she heard as blackness rose up to meet her, releasing her at last from the pain.

“Rurik…?” Her eyelids feeling like leaden weights, Zora turned her head to one side and whispered more loudly this time. “Rurik?”

“No, daughter, it’s me,” came a familiar voice, a large warm hand covering hers.

“Father?” Struck by sudden foreboding, Zora opened her eyes to find Mstislav seated next to the bed, his image blurred and fuzzy. She tried to raise herself on her elbows but immediately fell back, wincing at the sharp pain in her side. “You haven’t sent him away, have you? You haven’t sent Rurik away—”

“Sshh, Zora, he’s in the other room. I finally convinced him to allow the physician to attend to his leg. He’s a stubborn one, that Varangian of yours. It’s the first time he’s stepped away from your bed since we brought you here last night.”

“Last night?” She was answered with a nod, her father’s face gradually becoming more focused. His expression was somber and he looked weary, as if he had gotten little sleep. Yet his gray-blue eyes held the affection she had always known there.

“You gave us a scare, daughter, one I hope never to relive. Seeing you lying here so pale, the healers doing everything they knew to help you…” Mstislav sighed heavily and fell silent, adding after a long moment, “It reminded me of when your mother fell ill…except that time, nothing could be done—”

He seemed to choke and he looked away, but not for long. Meeting her eyes again, he squeezed her hand, a faint smile touching his lips.

“You’ll be up from this bed in no time, or so I’ve been promised. Fortunately the knife did not go deep but glanced off your ribs. Yet you lost a lot of blood—”