Cruel, heartless prick. I remained on my hands and knees, spitting foulness on the ground, because if I turned back around, it would be to kill him.
Or at least, I’d try.
And when I inevitably failed, because far better warriors than me were close at hand, my family would be punished in some way.
Bite your tongue, Freya, I ordered myself. The dead are beyond your help but you’ve yet the power to curse the living.
“I think it not wise to linger here, given that more will come,” Bjorn said. Turning to the old gothi, he added, “Shall we pick up where I left off?”
The old man was gaping at the carnage, but at Bjorn’s words he blinked, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course, child of Tyr.”
Bjorn dropped to his knees to finish the rite, and as he did, Snorri’s warriors moved to strip the dead of valuables before dragging the bodies to one side, where, I presumed, they’d eventually be burned. Enemy or not, they were Skalanders and would be honored in death.
“We’ll await you at the Hall of the Gods.” Bjorn cast the words over his shoulder at his father as he stepped through the barrier. Grasping my shoulders, he steered me through the masses of onlookers, all of whom gave us a wide berth, whispers of “they vanquished the draug” repeating over and over.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” I muttered as we moved into the sea of tents and cookfires, dozens upon dozens of men, women, and a few children moving about them. There had to be hundreds here from places near and far.
“Given you appeared ready to murder my father with your bare hands, I thought distance a prudent choice. Will give you a chance to calm down.” He squeezed my shoulders, then let go, the heat left behind from his hands fading too quickly. “I’m hungry. And thirsty—fighting always makes me crave strong drink.”
As if hearing his words, a man sitting next to a fire shouted, “Bjorn!” then filled a cup from the jug at his feet. He handed it to Bjorn after they pounded each other vigorously on the back, promising to find each other later, before carrying on.
“Distance isn’t going to calm me down,” I informed him as he drained his cup. Another man at another fire laughed and refilled it, only for the process to be repeated at the next fire. Bjorn was apparently well known, and well liked, even outside of his father’s territories.
“There is nothing to be done,” he answered. “Seeking vengeance for those women will cost you more than you’re willing to pay. You know this; that is why you didn’t shove Snorri off the cliff. Here, drink, it’s going to my head too quickly and I don’t like to get drunk alone.”
I took a few swallows from the cup he gave me before handing it back. Mead made my tongue work faster and my head slower, and my high temper wouldn’t help. “Snorri should be wary lest he push me too far. There is a limit.”
“Is there?” Bjorn’s gaze met mine and I stared into his green eyes, finding curiosity rather than condemnation as he added, “My father holds your family hostage, and you’ve proven time and again that there is nothing you won’t do to protect them, no sacrifice you won’t make. Even though, if I might add, they don’t deserve it. Which means he can do whatever he wants, and you will abide.”
“That’s not true!” My protest felt weak in my own ears, the verity of his words piling onto my shoulders like leaden weights, dragging me down. “What would you have me do? What would you do?”
He shrugged. “For me to be in such a situation would require there being someone among the living who might be used as leverage against me.”
A pang struck me in the stomach that there wasn’t anyone he cared so much for, but I shoved away the sensation. “If there is nothing in your life worth dying for, then what is there worth living for?”
“Reputation. Battle fame.”
Bjorn’s response should have disgusted me in its selfishness, but…there was a hollowness beneath the flippancy that made me wonder if some part of him wished it were otherwise. “Well, you have that,” I said and drained the cup in my hand.
In silence, we approached the entrance to an enormous hall, the carved wooden doors flung wide. Stepping inside, I paused to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness, and when they did, focused on the enormous wooden likenesses of the gods set about the hall.
I started to walk toward them, but Bjorn froze.
My skin prickled and my attention shot to that which I hadn’t noticed—the man standing in our path, a broad woman with her blond hair in war braids standing slightly behind him.