Chapter 23 Brynn
Brynn
Brynn did not know Ovrek personally. She knew only passing details of his history, but she had no doubt that last night had been the worst night of his life.
His queen, his daughter, and his concubine were all dead. He’d lost hundreds of men and years of work. His hall, the symbol of a lord’s power, had been burned. Not only that, but terrors from legend had ravaged his people.
Worst of all, Ovrek had not killed any of those terrors himself. He had faced the serpent and Wulfwir and even Tullia, but he could not claim the glory for besting any of them.
In a way, Brynn sympathized. He had done what he was supposed to do—lead fearlessly in the face of danger. But the glory would go to others.
Brynn and Cenric had killed Jormanthar. Hróarr had killed Wulfwir.
There had been dozens of witnesses to both.
No one knew who had killed Tullia or if someone did, they were wisely not taking credit.
Though Tullia had been a traitor, it was unlikely Ovrek would reward the man who had slain his daughter.
Daybreak saw Ovrek alone on the hill beneath the smoking remains of his hall. He’d chased off everyone who had tried to speak to him—Cenric, Hróarr, Berdun, and even Tolvir—shouting incoherent threats and curses.
Vana had wanted to try speaking to him, but Hróarr had wanted her nowhere near Ovrek while the king had an axe. Brynn had volunteered because she had the means to protect herself and Ovrek might not see her as a threat. He tended to underestimate women.
Cenric, Hróarr, Vana, Berdun, and a jarl by the name of Ingmar waited a short distance down the hill.
Snapper and Guin waited with them, watching to see if Brynn might have better luck.
It had been six hours since the battle, and the sun had climbed its way out of the eastern sea.
Perhaps Ovrek had the chance to calm down, or perhaps he was simply tired by now.
“King Ovrek,” Brynn called, not sure if he would try chasing her off, too.
The king did not respond. He remained with his head bowed, staring at the corpse laid out before him.
Brynn ventured closer.
Ovrek’s axe lay at his feet. He’d have to reach for it and that should give her ample warning if he did try to strike.
“Lord?” Brynn dared to venture even closer.
“What do you want?” Ovrek growled, not looking up.
“Your people need you.”
“They did just fine without me last night,” Ovrek spat back. The bitterness in his voice unmistakable.
“Vana would ask your permission to search for Sifma’s body,” Brynn said. “She wishes to prepare your queen for burial.”
Sifma’s remains were somewhere in the smoking ruin of the hall. Vana hoped she would be recognizable by her jewelry, but after flying into a rage, Ovrek had not permitted anyone close enough to look.
“Vana?” Ovrek seemed to think hard to recall the name, but after a moment he relented. “Yes. Vana can look.”
“Thank you, lord. That will mean a great deal to her.” Brynn could see that Sifma had been dear to Vana, like a mother. As soon as she realized Hróarr was alive and they had won, she’d broken down in tears.
Ovrek hesitated. “She’ll have women help her?”
“She’ll need some of the men to help move the bodies, but yes.”
Ovrek’s shoulders rose, squaring.
“Cenric and Hróarr,” Brynn added quickly. “And perhaps your son? No one else.”
Ovrek was quiet for a moment. “That’s fine. But no one else.”
Brynn dared to venture closer.
Ovrek didn’t respond, allowing her to sit beside him on the edge of the small berm where the corpse had been dragged last night.
Tullia’s helm was missing, as was one of her bracers. The looters probably hadn’t realized it was her or even that it was a woman in the dark, but Ovrek had been incensed when he’d caught them.
He’d killed two of his own men without question. He had raved and roared like a madman, swinging his axe at anyone who came near his daughter’s body.
Brynn understood all too well. She’d found her sister’s corpse naked on the battlefield and knew what that meant. There was a reason she had never told anyone where her sister was buried. Better for Aelfwynn to lie in anonymity than to be violated further.
“I shouldn’t have named her Tullia.” Ovrek’s voice cracked. “Her namesake died young, too. It was unlucky.” The king didn’t say more, and Brynn didn’t press him.
She stared down at what remained of Tullia.
Bodies had a way of paling and shrinking in death. It was eerie. The form at their feet was Tullia and yet it wasn’t.
It appeared that a blade had gotten under Tullia’s armor and stabbed her inner thigh, probably a spear. She’d bled out but had kept fighting if the corpses around her were any indication.
Her two eunuchs lay not far off, covered in wounds. They too had sold their lives dearly.
“She fought well,” Brynn said softly. “She died well.”
Ovrek tilted his head back, looking to the sky. “She did.”
Brynn had felt an odd sense of kinship to the other woman. Even after Tullia had tried to kill her and Cenric, along with everyone in that hall, Brynn couldn’t rejoice over the woman’s death. Tullia was so familiar. She had been so much like Aelfwynn.
But Brynn couldn’t picture Aelfwynn locking her inside a burning hall as Tullia had done to her younger brother.
“She will be buried in the armor.” Ovrek spoke the words like a decree. “No one takes it off.”
“We can arrange that, lord.” The war gear was exquisite, even in its battle worn state. Brynn couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it would have cost, but that wasn’t important to Ovrek now.
“We’ll bury her eunuchs with her.” Ovrek gestured toward their corpses. “They should attend her in the next life, I think.”
“I’m sure she’d like that.” As to what the men would have wanted for themselves, Brynn would never know. They would be buried as grave goods for their mistress by people who likely didn’t even know their names.
“I will bury Gistrid with Sifma,” Ovrek continued. “It seems fitting.”
Brynn had no comment. She inhaled and exhaled carefully. The morning breeze had carried away most of the smoke, but her lungs were still sore. She might find it difficult to breathe for some time.
“My queen told me an interesting story before the feast.”
Brynn dared not speak.
“She said she had poisoned my concubine.” Ovrek made a growling sound of frustration. “She refused to tell me why.”
Brynn followed his gaze, staring out at the water. “I am sure she had her reasons.”
Ovrek finally deigned to look at her. “That is exactly what she said.”
Brynn had the impulse to turn from his probing gaze, but she didn’t.
“I suppose this means Cenric can keep you.” Ovrek glared down the hill to where her husband waited with his cousin.
A flutter of relief stirred in Brynn’s chest. At least that was confirmation Ovrek wouldn’t be trouble for them—for now.
“I owe you a favor, Lady Brynn.” Ovrek rested his hands on his knees.
“A favor, lord?”
“You killed the serpent,” Ovrek reminded her. “Every man on that beach saw it. An arm ring hardly seems sufficient.”
“Ah, yes.” Brynn glanced down the hill at Cenric. “I’m not sure that is needed.”
“Why not?”
“I killed Jormanthar for Cenric.”
Ovrek didn’t seem to quite understand. “What does that mean?”
“I fought the serpent for him. Just as I was ready to swear allegiance to one,” Brynn replied softly, “if he’d asked it of me.
” She gazed down to the beach, where Ovrek’s black serpent banner had been staked to let everyone know that the king still lived.
Whether that was an extra banner or if Ovrek’s banner had been somehow spared when his hall burned, Brynn didn’t know.
“But he did not ask it of you?” Ovrek seemed to catch on.
“It looks as if it won’t come to that.” Brynn stared out over Istra.
By daylight, the damage was not as bad as it had seemed when fires were all one could see. Many of the storehouses had been partially damaged, but only a few had been destroyed entirely.
Most of Tullia’s men had behaved in a typical Valdari fashion, seeking to steal instead of destroy.
Apart from the obvious exception of the hall, Brynn wasn’t sure that any of the other fires had been started intentionally.
They might very well have been accidents as fires were left untended in the chaos of the battle.
Many of Ovrek’s unfinished ships had been burned, but most of the completed ones had only been taken farther down the beach.
Hundreds of people had died, and the Althing had all but dispersed before it had begun. Rumors of Ovrek’s death still fluttered about the town, but Ovrek’s men were working to tamp them down.
It could have been so much worse.
Stories of Hróarr slaying Wulfwir and Cenric’s two perfect javelin throws into the serpent’s eyes were already spreading like ringworm through a pigpen.
Down on the beach, people stared at the massive corpse of Jormanthar, milling about, seeing the decapitated body for themselves. Everyone could see no blade had done that. Brynn had heard her own name whispered by Valdari tongues on the walk here.
“I will rebuild,” Ovrek growled, the words like a vow.
“You will,” Brynn conceded.
Even once word of what he had done to the Grandfather Yew spread, Brynn had no doubt Ovrek would keep control of Valdar. He was not a man to let something as trifling as facts hinder his aspirations.
All the same, Ovrek would not be able to invade Hylden this year or next. He would need time. That would give Brynn and Cenric time, too.
With time, they could build palisades, strengthen defenses. They could train more warriors and establish more forts.
One day, Ovrek might very well have to court Cenric’s favor instead of demanding his allegiance.
Ovrek folded his arms across his chest, leaning back. He might have floundered in his grief moments ago, but it seemed thoughts of conquest pulled him back.
“If you still wished to grant me a favor…” Brynn weighed her next words carefully. “There is one thing I think would benefit us all.”