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“Aye, I am here, Merrik, and it is no trap unless others have made it thus for their own benefit. Hallad wanted to meet you and to see his daughter again. I have told him that soon, with your aid, we will discover who killed his wife and your mother, Laren. I didn’t kill Nirea nor was I her lover, as I know you’ve been told. But Hallad was blamed for her death and I knew I couldn’t allow him to be killed for it. Thus he became an outlaw, but I couldn’t allow that to continue. Two years ago, shortly before your and Taby’s abduction, he become the old wizard who lives here, supposedly, and provides me with prophesies and advice. This abominable hut stinks, a pit of filth, I know, but Hallad only uses it to discourage any men who would come here to rob him. He lives in the monastery of St. Catherine’s. You passed it on your way here. When he is there, he is a Christian monk. It has worked well, this ruse of ours. Show yourself to your daughter, Hallad. I will see that the men stay out of here.”
Hallad set Laren aside. He pulled off the thick white wig and the heavy beard. Brilliant thick red hair freely laced with gray sprang up. The red was just the color of Laren’s. His eyes, dark as his brother Rollo’s, were vibrant with life. Standing side by side, there was a resemblance, surely, but that red hair, it was like a beacon. He was a handsome man, a man Merrik was very glad hadn’t died, and he was an old man, too, even though he had fewer years than his brother, Rollo.
Hallad seemed to guess his thoughts. “Aye, Merrik, Rollo and I both are old men. I can see it in your eyes. But we are blessed with years upon years of life.”
“You both carry the years well,” Merrik said. He turned to Rollo. “This becomes even more of a tangled skein, sire. I have men arriving shortly, Oleg leading them. I truly believed this to be a subterfuge, that whoever was responsible for attacking me and killing Fromm would try to kill us this time.”
Rollo smiled and rubbed his hands together over the orange flames. “Will your men gallop up like an invading hoard of Vikings or will they hide amongst the trees and wait for a signal?”
“They will wait for a signal.”
“Good. My men will wait outside, too, well hidden in the trees. There is only one horse outside, all the others are in the woods. We will have some mead now.”
“And wait as well?” Laren said, and hugged her father again.
“Aye,” Hallad said, kissing the top of her head. “We will wait as well.”
“Ah,” Merrik said. “You have planted seeds and watered them.”
“Aye, I am a great leader, Merrik Haraldsson. My mind and my body forged this land. You expect that I wouldn’t protect it and those I love with all the cunning I possess?”
Merrik laughed, and Hallad, to Merrik’s surprise, punched his brother’s arm. “He is always braying like a damned mule,” Hallad said, and punched him again. “H
e will soon begin to believe that he is a godlike figure, a myth to survive the centuries. He will soon believe all the incredible stories credulous fools tell about him.”
Rollo laughed, a deep booming laugh. “And you, graybeard, what of you? Making me visit you here in this filthy sod shack, making people believe you’ve nearly reached the status of a Christian’s holy man, an old ass who gives me advice by looking into the flames in this wretched fire pit? Ha, Hallad!” And he laughed again. He said then to Hallad, his voice deep and serious, “The children do not understand all of this, brother, particularly my old man’s irritation and bile. My show of an old man’s foolishness.”
“It surprised me,” Laren said, “when you behaved as though you were doddering on the edge of your brain.”
“Good,” Rollo said. “That means all others saw it and believed it as well.”
Hallad struck a thoughtful pose and said, “I wonder if he was truly playing the role?”
“I pray so, Father,” Laren said.
Merrik said to Rollo, “You are certain our villain will show himself today?”
“Aye,” Rollo said. “Aye. I have told several men of Hallad’s presence here, how he was pretending to be like a holy man and of my visit to him here today. I told them all that he sent me a message telling me that he had discovered who had killed Nirea and abducted Laren and Taby.”
“Including Weland and Otta?”
Rollo nodded, a flash of pain in his dark eyes. “Aye,” he said after a moment, “today we will know our enemy.”
“Finally,” Hallad said. “Finally.”
Helga rode beside Otta and his score of well-armed men. He’d told her that her father was still alive. He wanted her to see him for herself. Helga didn’t believe him for a moment, but Otta was a man she was considering as a new husband, despite the foolish pains in his belly that none of her potions could cure, and thus she didn’t consider it wise to flay him just yet with her tongue.
She would flatter him and show him she believed his fine tale. She could laugh at him after he was her husband.
When they drew close to the squalid dwelling, she wrinkled her nose. “You say that my father lives here? That is nonsense, Otta. My father would never soil his fingers, much less live in a sod hut like this. It is impossible.”
“Nonetheless,” Otta said, not looking at her, “it’s true. I have it from the great Rollo himself. He told me of it just this morning. Do you wish to see him or no?”
“Oh aye, but have him come outside. I have no wish to dirty myself.”
Suddenly, with no warning, Otta grabbed her arm and jerked her off her mare’s back. He hurled her to the ground. Helga lay sprawled on her side, gasping for breath, staring up at him.
“Perfidious bitch,” he said, smiling, and dismounted, standing over her. When she tried to rise, he kicked out his foot and caught her in the ribs. She yelled and fell back. “Stay there,” he said. “I like you there, on the ground, helpless for once, and silent. By the gods, at last you are silent. And you are helpless, Helga, even more helpless than Fromm was, so drunk he could barely fight back for even a moment. I have wanted to kill you for a very long time now. All of you, this entire cursed family.”
