“Ah, that is how they do things, then,” Skalk said, nodding to himself. “Like an apprenticeship to a blacksmith, or a farrier.” He paused, a smile twitching his lips. “Or to a Galdurman.”
“Aye,” Varg said.
“And what is it you wish of me?” Skalk said. “You have a question, or a request?”
“You see straight to the heart of it,” Varg said, a tremor in his veins. Fear. Hope.
“Time is a gift, not for wasting,” Skalk said.
“Straight to it, then,” Varg said. “I wish for an akáll to be done. It is important to me.”
“Hmmm,” Skalk said, nodding as they walked among the pine trees. “That is no small thing. The Bloodsworn have a Seier-witch. As you are one of them, or soon to be, why do you not ask her?”
“Because time is a gift, not for wasting,” Varg said, “and Glornir will not allow Vol to perform an akáll until I have sworn my oath to them.”
“Then swear your oath.”
“Glornir says I am not ready. And there is no time set upon it: it could be a day or a year. Or never. Glornir will only tell me when he deems me ready,” Varg said with a bitter twist of his lips.
“Ah, and time is beating like a drum,” Skalk said, nodding. “Rushing by. Oaths bind us, drive us, do they not?”
“They do,” Varg said, a tremor in his voice.
“I could perform this akáll for you. But there would be a cost. One part of which is that I suspect you would lose your place in the Bloodsworn. I do not think Glornir is the kind of man to look favourably on acts of… impatience.”
“It is not impatience,” Varg said. “It is the fulfilment of an oath.”
“Yes, to you this is important. To Glornir,” Skalk shrugged. “Trust me, he will not think well on you doing this. You must recognise this, before you go any further.”
Varg nodded, blew out a slow breath.
“I acknowledge it,” he said.
“And Glornir would most likely not look too kindly on me if I were to perform this akáll, with me knowing that it would take you from the Bloodsworn. I have to ask myself, is that something I want? Glornir and the Bloodsworn are an ally to Queen Helka, and this task is important to her.”
“It is nobody’s business but ours,” Varg said.
“That is… naive,” Skalk said.
“I can pay,” Varg said, his hand going to his coin pouch on his belt.
“I would want paying, of course. An akáll is no easy thing, and it takes its toll,” Skalk said, looking at Varg and the coin pouch. He frowned. “I do not need your coin. But there are other ways of paying: you would owe me a debt, as and when I call for it. I would require your oath. Your blood oath.”
“I see,” Varg said.
“Do not answer me now,” Skalk said. “It is too great a thing to decide in an instant. Think on it, and perhaps we shall talk more. Yes?”
Varg nodded. The weight of his oath pressed down upon him, the need to honour and avenge his sister heavier with every day. It gnawed at his soul. He knew Skalk was speaking wisdom, and he also disliked the thought of being indebted to this man, to anyone. But in Varg’s heart he knew that he had no choice at all. He drew in a deep breath.
Paused.
Something around him had changed. A tingling in the air, a silence, heavy as unforged iron. No birdsong or hum of insects. He frowned, slowing, and saw that Glornir and Vol had slowed ahead of them, Sulich catching up with the chief and Seier-witch. They were all walking slowly, heads turning, eyes searching the forest.
A whistle came from up ahead, deep in the woodland.
A warning from Edel? Varg thought.
He heard the hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard, Yrsa drawing her blade and shrugging her shield into her fist.
A figure appeared out of the forest gloom: Torvik, running back to Glornir. A hushed conversation between them.
Glornir held his hand in the air.
“Bloodsworn, on me,” he called out.
Varg quickened his pace and joined Sulich. The warrior had shrugged his shield from his back, his other hand resting on the hilt of the sabre at his hip. Instinctively Varg gripped his shield and slipped the leather cover from his spear blade, tucking it in his belt.
R?kia will be proud of me, he thought.
“What is it?” Skalk said as he joined them. Olvir and Yrsa both had shields and swords in their fists, and were scanning the gloom around them. More of the Bloodsworn were joining them, jogging through the forest, shields moving from backs to fists. In a score of heartbeats all of them were gathered, over fifty warriors forming a loose line behind Glornir.