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Deglin continued quickly, “Innar became well-known for his skill in dealing at the slave market. One day he chanced to see a girl there who was bowed and thin and dressed in rags. He decided he wanted her and thus he bought her and brought her with him back to his home. He didn’t know that she was filled with evil, that she hated being a woman, that she wanted to be a man with a man’s talents and skills and a man’s genius. She tried to do the things the men did and she failed and her rage grew for she knew she was inferior.”
The talk was louder now, drowning out Deglin’s words. The men were looking toward Merrik. His face was still. He said nothing for a very long time, merely looked at Deglin thoughtfully. He raised a hand finally to quiet the men and said, “You do not wish to continue the tale as it is now going, Deglin.?
?? His voice softened now, and Laren felt a shiver of sheer terror at the feel of it. “Tell us what became of Innar, this man who had no respect for his father.”
“Why, my lord,” Deglin said after a moment, “he changed, certainly he changed. He became his own man and thus gained respect for his sire who had given him all the gifts he now used to make himself successful. He won himself great honors and respect from the men, for he was a trader above all other traders. He killed the evil slave. He brought home much silver and became richer than ever his father had dreamed of wealth. He wed the girl his father had picked for him and he had many sons. Thus Grunlige the Dane was followed by men who did not shame his name.”
There was a long silence, broken finally by Oleg, tall and lean and menacing, who loomed over Deglin and said in a voice of disgust, “Your tale is unworthy, Deglin. I found it filled with ill-disguised venom and lies. You are like a gnat that buzzes about—you dart in to strike, then you’re off again, hiding in your cowardice of words. I would prefer to hear the girl tell us what happened to Grunlige the Dane.”
Deglin’s beautiful skald’s voice shook with anger as he said, “The girl will tell you nothing! She has not the wit nor the skill. She pretends to it, aye, but she has it not. She is a slave, nothing more, just a miserable slave. She would not dare to speak her foolishness, for I will not allow it. Do you not see it? She is evil, she brings discord. She makes us angry at each other. She has cast spells on Merrik, weakening him!”
Oleg slipped his knife from his belt. He took a step toward Deglin. There was no expression on his face, nothing to show his intent. He stopped when Merrik said, “Hold, Oleg. Again Deglin has allowed his mouth to rule the logic of his brain. Is that not true, Deglin?”
Deglin drew a deep breath, gaining control. “I have been careless. Aye, my lord, I have not heeded what I should heed. I will tell you another story, one that you will find more to your liking.”
Oleg just shook his head at Deglin, sheathed his knife, and eased himself back down on the wolfskin, crossed his legs, and said, “Come, Laren, what happened? Parma touched Selina’s arms and he felt something strange. Continue.”
She was silent, wondering what to do. The men were all looking at her expectantly. She could tell nothing from Merrik’s closed expression. Taby was drowsing in his arms, his head against Merrik’s chest. The men all nodded at her now, some telling her to begin again, aye, tell them about Parma and what Selina did to him. She continued to look back at Merrik. Finally, he nodded at her. She smiled. She rose. She opened her mouth to speak, the words brimming in her mind. She saw his arm rise but she didn’t move back quickly enough. Deglin hit her cheek hard with his fist, knocking her sideways to the ground, and into the fire.
7
MERRIK DUMPED TABY onto the ground and leapt to his feet, but Cleve was faster. He raced to Laren and dragged her from the fire. She was still senseless from the blow Deglin had struck her. Her right trouser leg was burning, sluggish flames that were seeping into the dry wool, seeking better purchase, billowing up black smoke from the material. He knocked her onto her face and dug dirt up with his fingers, flinging it onto her leg. Then he pressed the dirt into the trousers, rubbing furiously. Merrik pulled Cleve aside, jerked off his own tunic, and flattened it against her leg. He raised it and looked down at the burned wool, peeling back, now gaping about her flesh. She turned slowly onto her side and he looked at her face.
“Are you all right?”
She stared at him a moment, her face without color, her fingers digging into the earth, spasmodically, with no reason, just digging and digging. She winced, lightly touching her fingertips to her cheek where Deglin had struck her. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it. The blood pounded deep and hard, fear clogging her brain, and she smiled and said, “I wasn’t fast enough.”
Merrik just stared at her, shaking his head. “Is your jaw broken?” Even as he spoke, he touched her cheek, his fingers light and gentle, then nodded. “No, but there will be a bruise.” He looked at her leg again. “Sit up,” he said. He was aware of the men’s angry voices all around them. Good, they wouldn’t stand behind Deglin, not that it mattered to Merrik.
She did, saying nothing.
He ripped back the wool, baring her leg. Her leg wasn’t too badly burned, but the flesh from her ankle to her knee was dark red. He imagined the pain must be great, but when he looked at her face again, he saw only blankness, and realized she hadn’t yet given over to it, hadn’t yet realized fully what had happened and what the consequences were going to be. “Stay still,” he said and rose. He turned. Oleg was holding Deglin.
The skald was panting, struggling against Oleg, but Oleg was strong, as strong as Merrik, and he was very angry.
Merrik walked to him slowly. He stood there in front of him, saying nothing, merely stared down at him. Deglin stopped struggling. He said, “I did not mean to harm her, just to punish her. She deserved the blow to her face, but she tripped into the fire, it wasn’t my fault. She is a slave, my lord, there can be no retribution.”
Cleve snarled behind Merrik, his hands fisted, his body tensed, ready to leap. The men were all on their feet, their shock at what had happened quickly changed to fury. But they were willing to wait to see what Merrik would do. It was his decision, not theirs.
Merrik heard Taby crying and turned to see the child crawling toward his sister.
He said calmly, “Cleve, take the child to his sister. Oleg, bring our skald here, to the fire. He is doubtless cold, at least he’s proved his brain is cold and without reason or sense. I will warm him, as he did Laren.”
Oleg smiled and dragged Deglin to the fire. The men all drew near, making a circle about them, saying nothing now, waiting.
“Give him to me,” Merrik said. Oleg shoved Deglin to Merrik. Merrik grabbed him about his neck and forced him to the ground. Without warning, he grabbed Deglin’s right leg and shoved it into the flames, holding it there.
Deglin stared in horror at the flames lashing upward around and through his leg. He felt the awful scalding heat, felt the material burn from his leg, felt the flames go into his flesh. He screamed and thrashed, struggling wildly against Merrik.
Merrik released him only after the cloth had burst into flames and turned to ashes. He watched him dispassionately as he scrambled away, rolling in the dirt, screaming, gasping for breath, choking.
He just looked at him, then said, “You have less sense than a snail, Deglin. Your lack of control is offensive. I won’t kill you this time. But heed me, never again harm another without my permission. Do you understand me?”
Deglin was filled with pain, filled with the shock of the pain, the disbelief of what had happened, of what Merrik had done to him simply because he’d struck a slave. He smelled his own burned flesh. His craw filled with vomit and loathing. He said on a gasp, “Aye, my lord, I understand you.”
“Good,” Merrik said, then turned away from him. He saw that Laren was sitting up now and staring down at her burned leg. Her fingers were hovering above the reddened flesh. She was afraid to touch herself. Cleve was beside her, holding Taby, who was gulping down tears, speaking quietly to both of them. Merrik said to Eller, “Fetch me the healing cream my mother sent along in the herb pouch in my tent. Quickly.”
Merrik came down on his haunches. He grasped her chin between his fingers and lifted her face. “The cream will leach out the heat and pain. It is the same cream I put on your back, and it eased you, did it not?”
