Varg tried to stand, swayed, and Svik offered his hand.
Varg frowned at it and instinctively pulled away.
“Accepting help is not a weakness,” Svik said as he grabbed Varg’s arm and heaved him upright.
Varg shrugged. “Where I come from, help would not be given, even if I asked for it.”
“You are not there any more,” Svik said, for a moment his smile gone, his eyes serious.
That will take some getting used to. Varg had never asked for help, or even thought about asking, knowing that none would be given. He had lived friendless and lonely for so long that it was just the natural state of life for him, his sister Fr?ya his only friend.
He looked over at R?kia, who was still standing with Glornir. Vol the Seier-witch had joined them, and Jarl Logur, along with his wife and a handful of his oathmen. Varg strode towards them, breathing slowly in an attempt to control the churning in his belly.
As he reached the dais he became aware of a new pressure building in his head, as if a weight were pushing down upon him. He looked up, but saw only a thick-beamed rafter, a raven sitting upon it, its black eye twinkling. Then he saw something was embedded into the rafter, something pale and long, like a sliver of bone. One end of it glinted like silver.
“I will not place you in this position.” Glornir’s voice grated like surf on a shingle beach. “You have been generous beyond thanks, already, putting up with my stinking crew drinking your mead, eating your meat and humping thralls in your rushes.”
“You are welcome always, Glornir. The Bloodsworn will always have a place at my hearth fire, whether it be for a day or for a winter.”
“We are grateful,” Glornir said, “and we will surely return. But today, we will sail with the tide. My crew are restless, anyway. They are not made for idleness.”
Logur grunted and embraced Glornir. “I shall see that you leave with full barrels and bellies,” he said. “I shall arrange it all.” And he walked away, his guards following.
His wife lingered a moment. “He means that he will ask me to arrange it all,” she said with a smile.
Glornir dipped his head to her.
“My thanks, S?lla,” he said, and then she was walking away, too.
Glornir looked up and saw Varg and frowned.
“Eavesdropping is not an admirable quality,” he said.
“I was not,” Varg said. “I… wanted to talk to you.”
Glornir gave him a flat look.
“Talk, then.”
Varg saw them all staring at him. Glornir, R?kia, Vol. Svik behind him. Edel the scoutmaster with her two hounds. Members of the Bloodsworn.
How did I come to be here? Life is sweeping me on a great wave.
“My thanks, first,” Varg said. “You saved me, from Leif Kolskeggson, for which I am grateful.”
Glornir dipped his head, an acknowledgement, but he said nothing.
“Huh,” R?kia grunted.
“You said first,” Vol said, her voice soft, a surprise coming from her hard-lined face, accentuated by blue tattoos knotting her neck and lower jaw. Below the tattoos a thrall-collar sat on her neck, though she acted like no thrall Varg had ever known. There was a confidence about her, and a dignity in her gaze. “Which means, you have something else to say?”
“I do,” Varg nodded. He closed his eyes, remembered Fr?ya’s face. “I have a request. A task that can only be performed by a Galdurman, or a Seier-witch.” He opened his eyes and looked only at Vol, now.
“What task?” Vol asked him.
“An akáll.”
Vol clicked her tongue. “That is no simple task,” she said. “To relive the last moments of a life…”
“I know, but it is… everything, to me.”
“You need—” Vol began.
“No,” Glornir grated, interrupting.
Varg looked from Vol to Glornir.
“I was told that Vol worked her craft for the Bloodsworn. That is what Svik told me. That the only way for her to undertake this task for me was if I became one of the Bloodsworn.” Varg looked accusingly at Svik, who shrugged.
“This is a truth,” Svik said, his infuriating smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
“And I am Bloodsworn,” Varg continued, looking to Glornir now. “You said the words yourself, to Leif Kolskeggson. Or should Liar be added to the many names of Glornir Gold-Giver?”
Hisses, indrawn breath, from R?kia and others in the hall. Dark looks.
“You are not Bloodsworn, yet,” Glornir said.
Varg scowled. “Then why did I fight Einar Half-Troll, get myself beaten to a pulp? Get stabbed and abused by her?” He jabbed a finger at R?kia. She smiled back at him, a cold smile that set his blood thrumming, anger rising.