CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE ELVAR

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

ELVAR

E lvar sipped from a horn of mead as she sat in a new chair that had been brought up onto the dais for her. It was smaller than Ulfrir's which, truth be told, was far more comfortable for her. She no longer felt like a child sitting in a chair where her feet did not reach the ground. And now that Ulfrir was free, it felt redundant and petty for her to continue to enforce her authority through such gestures. She did not need to worry about his rebellions. The blood oath would look after that for her.

"It has gone well," Ulfrir said to her as he sat in his own chair with a plate of roasted salmon, fried potatoes and onions, Skuld standing at his shoulder. She had a cut beneath one eye, but other than that had returned to the chamber uninjured. Elvar's jaw throbbed, a bruise swelling there from a shield rim smashed into her face. Every part of her ached, every muscle, every joint, every sinew was pulsing, exhaustion lying upon her limbs like a heavy cloak.

"Aye," Elvar said, though she looked towards the section of the chamber that had been turned into a bay for the wounded, and then she glanced to the stone doors. It was a weight that sat heavy in her soul, knowing that warriors lay dead in the vale, and that it had been her decisions that had caused those deaths.

"You think she will come tomorrow?" Elvar said.

"I do," Ulfrir growled, Elvar feeling the hairs on her neck stir. "Lik-Rifa thinks me weak, thinks I have come here to recover, but she will have suspected a trap. And now she has seen our forces pushed back by her war-host and I have done nothing to stem that. Done nothing to help them." He shrugged. "She will feel … reassured, that she was right, that I am not strong enough to fight, that I fear her. So, tomorrow, if you march out and set your wall of shields, then retreat, pretend to be broken and run, and we leave the doors open longer, allow her forces to push into this chamber. She will come, I am sure of it, and then …" He smiled, a sharp-toothed grin. "She will die."

"Tomorrow, then. Good," Elvar said, although it was late now, must be almost tomorrow already. Absently she ran a hand over her forearm, could feel the coiled ridges of the white scars of her blóe svarie beneath her woollen tunic. She looked to Uspa, who stood close by, tending to Hrung, who was still blue-tinged, water dripping in pools from the tattered flesh of his neck.

"Uspa, is there any word? Any sign?" The ravens Grok and Kló had been searching for signs of the Tainted children among Lik-Rifa's war-host. Searching for Bjarn, who was the grindstone that had set this war-mill into motion.

"No," Uspa said, a weight of feeling behind that one word.

"We shall find him," Berak growled, who stood with Uspa.

"We shall," Elvar echoed. "Tomorrow, when the dragon is dead."

Ulfrir stood and stretched like a hound, or a wolf. "I am for my bed. Even a god must sleep, and tomorrow shall be a hammer-hard day. A red day." He paused. "I am free," he said, gave a gentle smile. "Sometimes I forget, think that the collar is still about my neck." He looked at Elvar. "You have done a rare thing. Though there is a sharp sword-edge to it," he added, tracing the outline of the blood-oath scar that wound around his arm. "That was some deep-thinking, and it will no doubt give me a lifetime of inconvenience and trouble, treating all fairly, enforcing justice ." He nodded to himself, "But it was a good thing, and much better than a life with the iron collar."

"Heya," Berak grunted.

Elvar looked around at them all. "I did what I must," she said.

"No," Ulfrir shook his head. "You did not have to do it, and I thank you for that."

"We all thank you for that," Skuld said. And then they were walking from the dais, úlfhéenar drifting from the shadows of the chamber to follow Ulfrir to his den.

"Sleep, that sounds good," Elvar said. She stood, felt the ache of muscles and joints that only a fjord-deep sleep would cure. Hrung groaned, his eyes blinking.

"So c … c … cold," he mumbled.

Elvar paused, walked to Hrung.

" Hlyju, " Uspa said and Elvar saw a soft-glow of heat ripple around her hands. The Seier-witch placed them upon Hrung's face, heat radiating.

"Ahh, but that f … f … feels good," Hrung shivered. The opaque swirl of his eyes focused on Uspa. "Did I ever tell you that I love you, Snaka's child? If I had arms, I would wrap them around you and kiss you."

"Ha, you are making me glad that you are just a head," Uspa said, shifting the position of her hands and massaging warmth into him.

"And if you had arms and tried to do that, then I would chop them off," Berak rumbled.

"Ha, well, it is best for all that I do not have my arms then," Hrung said, a deep-rumbling laugh echoing from his wide lips. He glanced down at the dead spider still curled at the base of his pedestal and scowled.

"I am glad to see you awake," Elvar said. "There is something I would talk of with you."

"Well, then, let us talk, dear Elvar. These days it is all that I can do."

"I am not so sure of that," she said.

Elvar strode through the great hall. Many warriors were still eating, others sitting around fires, drinking, talking, laughing, some staring silently into the flames. She saw the Bloodsworn and Battle-Grim sitting together, Sighvat locked in an arm-wrestle with Einar Half-Troll, warriors around them shouting encouragements and swapping coin and hacksilver. Veins bulged on both of them, muscles bunching, straining, and Taras stood laughing behind Einar, the sound of it booming through the chamber. Glornir sat talking with Vol and Orka, Breca sat upon the big man's lap, and Vesli the tennúr was sitting on Breca's shoulder.

Elvar passed through it all and made her way up the stairwell about the great tree, stepped into her bed-chamber, felt each step was like dragging a weight of iron wrapped around her legs. Torches burned in sconces hammered into the stone walls, sending shadows stretching. She unpinned the brooch of her bearskin cloak and draped it across the back of a chair, slipped off her baldric and scabbarded sword, hung it over the same chair, unbuckled her weapons belt with seax and the axe Grend had given her and set that over the chair, too, then sat on her bed. Grend and Gytha were with her, and Sólín and Thorguna.

Elvar was talking tactics, of rising with the dawn, of which warbands and crews to set in the shield wall and where to put them.

Grend took her hand in his, smiled at her, which was a rare thing for him.

"What?" Elvar said.

"You have changed the world," he said, squeezing her hand. To her surprise she saw tears well in his eyes. "Though it counts for little, I am prouder of you than words can express."

"It counts for much," she whispered.

"As for the morrow, you have done all you can. Sleep, now, Elvar," Grend said. "And when you wake we shall slay a dragon."

"Aye," Elvar said.

Grend leaned forwards and kissed her gently on the cheek, like a father settling his child before bed, and he and Gytha left by the door in the rear of Elvar's chamber, leading into the tunnel where Gytha's rooms were situated.

Elvar stared after him a long moment. Nodded and let out a long sigh.

"Sólín, Thorguna, you have fought well, made a song for the skálds," Elvar said to her guards.

"Retht, chief," Sólín said, and Elvar lay back, glimpsed Thorguna taking up her place of guard in the shadows of the tree-branch entrance, and Sólín moving to stand near the rear door. Then sleep was sweeping over her like a great wave.