“Now we say farewell,” Orka said as she bent and rummaged in her sack. She took out Thorkel’s n?lbinding wool cap, which she pulled on to her head. She looked at the two brothers. They were staring at her, open-mouthed.
“What?” she said.
“You can’t just leave,” Lif said.
“That was our agreement,” Orka said. “You row me to Darl; I teach you some weapons craft.” She looked at their bruised faces. “I have done my best.”
“But what shall we do?” Lif said.
“That is up to you,” Orka said. “Not my business.” She took a few steps, then paused.
“Do you have any coin?” she asked them.
“A little,” Lif said.
Orka walked back to them, took her pouch from her belt and opened the drawstring, before sifting through it. “Here,” she said, holding out a few coins. “This will buy you food for a while, long enough for you to make some more.”
Mord scowled at her.
“We cannot take that,” Lif said. “Our father, he taught us…”
“Be in no one’s debt,” Mord said. “Earn your own keep; pay your own way, he always said.”
Orka shrugged. “Take it, or don’t,” she said. “It is nothing to me. Though I think you have earned it. You have rowed me here, and I have taught you a few things that might help you in a scrap. The scales are not even, to my thinking.” She pressed the coins into Lif’s palm and closed his fingers over them. “Your life is your own,” she said, quietly, “as is your vengeance. I have told you already, I think you should wait, earn some coin, make a home for yourself somewhere quiet and let some time pass.” She looked at the town and fortress, her mouth twisting. “Far from this stink, if you ask me. And when the time is right, go back to Fellur and put sharp steel in Guevarr’s belly. But it is your choice, the two of you. If you wish to rush back in search of your vengeance and practise your newfound skills on Guevarr now,” she shrugged.
Mord and Lif looked at one another.
“Keep your wits about you and your blades sharp,” Orka said to them and then she was turning and striding down the pier and on to the dockside. She did not look back, her thought-cage filled with the task ahead of her.
My son, if you are here, I will find you. And anyone who stands in my way will wish they hadn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ELVAR
Elvar banked her oar as the square sail of the Wave-Jarl was unfurled, the wool stinking of mutton-tallow and grease. The sail sagged for a moment and Sighvat bellowed orders, Biórr and a handful of others dragging on the rigging, and then the sail billowed and filled with a south-easterly that hurled them slicing through the waves like a fresh-cast spear.
They were sailing across Lake Horndal, wide as a small sea, the water deep, night-black and impenetrable, and land was just a thin smudge on the edge of Elvar’s vision. She twisted on her sea-chest and looked back over her shoulder at the trading town of Starl shrinking behind them. They had stayed there two days, long enough to restock their provisions: fresh barrels of water, mead, stock fish and smoked meats, as well as re-caulking weathered strakes with pine-tar and horsehair, a coat of fresh tallow to protect the sails and scraping the hull of seaweed, algae and slime. The Wave-Jarl leaped across the white-tipped waves like a horse after a long sleep and a good meal. Elvar heard Agnar laughing and saw him standing at the steering oar, feet spread. Rising from her bench she stumbled a step, then found her sea-footing and walked down the deck towards him. A hand gripped her wrist. It was Grend, looking up at her from his sea-chest. A lattice of thin red scars was laced around his hand and wrist, not yet healed, the same as Elvar bore, a reminder of their oath to one another and to Uspa. That had been twelve days ago, and since then they had packed and left the tavern, loaded the Wave-Jarl and rowed almost a hundred leagues.
“Going to see the chief,” Elvar said with a scowl to the question in Grend’s eyes.
Grend nodded and let go of her wrist. If anything, he had become more protective over her since they had sworn their new oath. Elvar didn’t like it.
She threaded her way across the deck, packed with provisions for what could be a long journey on foot, past a stack of wheels and axles and dismantled carts, five of them and eight pack-ponies that Agnar had purchased in Starl. They were tough beasts, tethered and munching on hay, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that they were no longer on dry land.
Agnar smiled at Elvar as she reached him.