Page 87 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Brandr would have given a good bit of his portion of the silver he and his friends brought back from Byzantium to follow the women to a cool, dark chamber and a soft bed. But from the sound of things, his brother needed him.

And Arn’s need wouldn’t wait. He squared his shoulders and marched into the great hall.

Chapter 30

“If you’re expecting a hero’s welcome, you’re destined for disappointment, brother,” Arn said from his place of honor between the twin carved pillars that flanked the judgment seat. “We’re a little too busy at present to raise a horn in your honor.”

“My welcome can wait.” Brandr schooled his face into a bland mask to cover the shock he felt.

Arn’s disease had taken a horrible toll on him, destroying the soft tissue of his features so thoroughly, he was forced to wear a silver nose in public. His hands were wrapped with cloths so no one might be able to tell how many digits he had left. All skin that could be covered was shrouded with unbleached muslin. So much of his lips were missing, Brandr wondered that no one had convinced him a full face mask would be in Arn’s best interests.

Now he understood why Hilde’s impassive face was brittle to the point of breaking.

Silence reigned as Brandr traveled the length of the long hall and dropped to one knee before Arn.

“I ask no welcome save that of a brother,” he said.

Arn shifted uncomfortably on the ornate throne. “Everyone else here this day has a claim to press. Am I to believe we’ll hear none from you?”

Brandr stood. “My sword and my life are sworn to the Jarl of Jondal. So long as you live, you are he.” Then he did a slow turn, so he could catch the eye of each of the other chieftains individually. “If anyone disputes that, they will answer to me. Now.”

One by one, the other men dropped their gazes. Relief flooded Brandr’s body. He didn’t relish a fight in his current condition, but he would have done it. Fortunately, his exhaustion must not have been that apparent.

“Very well,” Arn said. “I accept your affirmation of allegiance, but I don’t need you to fight my battles. If any of you feels man enough to issue a challenge, don’t let this nose scare you. Otherwise, I expect and demand that you all honor your oaths.”

The chieftains grumbled, but one by one they reaffirmed their allegiance to Arn.

“Now, you all have crops to plant and houses to build while brief summer bides with us,” Arn said. “Do not let us keep you from it.”

Once they all filed out, Brandr approached closer. “I won’t countermand you in public, but I wonder if it was wise to send them away.”

“Let them get back to their women and their land. If they’re busy doing the will of their wives, they’ll forget they wanted my crown.” Arn struggled to rise to his feet to privately give Brandr the honor he denied him before others. “Welcome home, brother.”

“Sit,” Brandr said, taking a place on the edge of the dais and settling onto it. “Or if you won’t, at least let me. I’m fair done in.”

“But not too blown to burst in and act the part of the conquering hero,” Arn said, a little of the poison-tongued sharpness Brandr remembered so well returning to his brother’s speech as he plopped heavily back onto his throne. “I didn’t ask for your help, you know.”

“No need to thank me,” Brandr said with a sardonic half smile. It was as if he and Arn had stepped right back into the same vicious circle of a sparring match they’d left five years ago. Then his smile faded. “That business with the chieftains was but a shower. I fear there may be a real squall on the horizon.”

“Truth makes the very air shimmer with the light of its candor. And you have spoken truly, Brandr, son of Ulf,” came a quavering feminine voice from across the length of the great gall.

“Dalla.” Brandr rose to his feet despite his fatigue.

Known to others as “Dalla the Deep-Minded,” the woman who’d been old when he was a boy was ancient now. She walked with deliberation across the hall, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane of ash wood. A ponderous bundle of years rode on her frail shoulders, but if Wisdom had a soul, she would look out at the world through Dalla’s calm gray eyes.

Because of the depth of her understanding, the folk of Jondal held her in superstitious awe. But to Brandr, she would always be simply Dalla, the woman who raised him and Arn after their mother died.

Brandr sprinted across the space to meet her, kneeling and pressing one of her fragile hands to his forehead in a gesture of profound respect.

“Stop that,” she complained, jerking her hand away. “How can I get a good look at you if you hide behind my bony fingers?”

She grasped his chin and turned his face up to hers, though she was so bent with age he didn’t have to lift his eyes very far to meet hers. A smile crackled across her face, leaving her as wrinkled as a winter apple.

“Can’t say I like what you’ve done with your hair, but you’ve come to terms with what you are since you left us, boy.” She nodded approvingly. “I see power hung like a mantle about your shoulders.”

“You have always seen more than most.” He rose and offered her his arm. She laid a hand on it lightly, and they walked toward the dais where Arn waited.

“Bah, I see more only because I’m not afraid to see.” Her white brows drew together, and she cocked her head at him, her gaze as bright as a robin’s. “You’re home. You’re safe and with a new wife and child in tow, I hear.”