He is a merchant whore. Her father’s words spiralled through her head.
He is my friend, Elvar snarled back at her imaginary father, though the memory of Agnar in Jarl St?rr’s mead hall, negotiating over the Berserkir, lingered in her memory.
“Tell me your decision when you are ready,” Agnar said, then reached for some food.
Elvar sat back with a sigh.
In truth, she did not know what to do.
And then it came to her.
She stood, her chair tumbling over behind her. “My thanks, chief,” she said over her shoulder as she made for the tavern’s door. A hand grabbed her as she reached it.
It was Uspa, her hood pulled up over her head. Thrud was leaning in the shadows, watching her.
“When are we leaving Snakavik?” Uspa asked her pleadingly.
Elvar blinked and shook Uspa’s hand off her.
“I don’t know,” Elvar said.
“I told you, I need to leave,” Uspa hissed.
“Tell me why, and I’ll talk to the chief,” Elvar said.
Uspa looked into Elvar’s eyes.
“You are mead-drunk,” Uspa said with disgust. “When you are sober, I will tell you.”
Elvar shrugged. “You may be waiting a long while,” she said and pushed her way through into the twilit town. She took a few swaying steps before she paused for a moment, sucking in cleaner air.
“Where are we going?” Grend said as he stepped out of the tavern behind her.
“I’m going to speak to Hrung’s head,” Elvar said.
Elvar climbed the steps of her father’s mead hall. Gytha led her, Grend following behind. The climb through Snakavik and the skull tunnel had cleared her head, and the searing winds that howled about the fortress had seemed to scour the alcohol from her veins.
Gytha led her into the mead hall. The tables were being made ready for the evening meal, thralls bringing out trenchers of meat and jugs of mead, tending to the hearth fires. Elvar reached out and grabbed a jug, Gytha raising a hand to the thrall who was trying to take it.
Elvar stepped up on to the dais and walked past her father’s high seat, empty now. Gytha stopped before the head of Hrung, whose eyes were closed, the muscles of his face slack, his mouth drooping like his long moustache in what looked like sleep.
“He is sleeping,” Gytha said. “I said I would bring you here, but I told you there would be no point. The giant sleeps longer and more heavily than he used to. Though your father may still flay me for it.”
“He will not,” Elvar said. “I am Elvar St?rrsdottir, how could you refuse me?”
Gytha raised an eyebrow. “I have not sent him word, for which I will be judged.”
“Then send him word that I am here now,” Elvar shrugged. “Just, wait a little longer before you do. Give me a few moments with Hrung and then I shall be gone.”
“The ancient one is asleep, anyway,” Gytha said as she turned. She paused beside Grend, her fingertips brushing his arm. Grend looked straight ahead and Gytha walked away.
“You should talk with Gytha,” Elvar said. “Spend time with her, while we are in Snakavik.”
“No,” Grend grunted.
Elvar looked at him and sighed.
“Hrung,” she said, but the giant head did not move.
Elvar held the jug beneath the giant’s huge nose, dipped her fingertips into the mead and flicked droplets on to his lips.
A ripple passed through the head, a tremor of flesh. An inhaled breath through the nose, the lips parting and Hrung’s fat tongue tasted the mead. The eyelids flickered, opening to reveal Hrung’s clouded eyes.
“Elvar,” he rumbled.
“I brought you a gift,” she said, holding the jug up.
“Ah, but you were always my favourite,” the head said, a grin spreading across his face.
“Not much of a compliment, when you are choosing between my father, brothers and me,” Elvar said. She tipped some of the jug into Hrung’s mouth, mead trickling over his tongue and down his throat. She watched as a stain spread slowly through the wood at her feet.
“Ah, but it tastes good, even if it does not have the effect it once did,” Hrung sighed.
“That is because you are only a head,” Elvar said, looking at the stain seeping about her feet.
“You are still full of wisdom, then,” Hrung rumbled.
“I’ve missed you,” Elvar smiled, only realising the truth of it as her words left her mouth. Few of her memories from Snakavik had any warmth to them, save for some scattered moments with her younger brother, Broeir, and her conversations with Hrung.