Tears of the Wolf (Wrath and Weeping #1)

Chapter 20 Cenric

Cenric

“You realize I’m not paying you if these raiders don’t show?” Cenric faced Hróarr, moving one of his pieces across the tafl board.

Typically, the board would be balanced on their laps, but they had placed it atop a barrel between them to make it easier if they had to rise suddenly.

Hróarr chuckled. “Seems fair.”

They spoke in Valdari, crouched under the eaves of a smithy, watching and waiting. The glowing coals in the smithy’s forge served for light.

The people of Leofton had panicked upon seeing Hróarr’s obviously Valdari ship, but Cenric had managed to calm them.

The headman of the town was an elder named Leofric with one eye and two teeth. His family had founded this fishing village, and he had been none too happy about another thirty or so men to feed, even if only for a few days. Like Brynn, he seemed skeptical that any raid was coming.

Cenric was not sure how he could have parted with Brynn on better terms, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have.

Vana had kissed Hróarr in front of everyone, standing on her toes to whisper lovers’ secrets in his ear before kissing him one last time.

Brynn had inclined her head to Cenric. “Return safely, lord,” she said. Her words had been all stiff formality and icy acceptance.

Cenric pressed a kiss to her forehead all the same, hoping they could sort this out when he returned home. For just a moment, Brynn softened. Her hands squeezed his forearms tight until he had to pull away.

When he withdrew, she took a shuddering breath, almost like she was fighting tears. She pulled herself together a moment later, standing straight and stoic.

Cenric left his wife standing on the riverbank, her face as hard and unreadable as a shield.

“Not sure what’s keeping them,” Hróarr muttered. He nudged one of his pieces across the board. He had chosen to play Valds, the dark pieces. “Must be the weather.”

Tafl was played on a checkered board with pale pieces, Hylds, and dark pieces, Valds. The Hylds started at the center of the board, surrounded on all four sides by the Valds. The Hylds won when their king piece reached the edge of the board, escaping. The Valds had no king piece, but they won by capturing the Hyld king.

It had started raining, so perhaps that was what had kept the Valdari raiders at bay. From where Cenric and Hróarr sat playing tafl, they could see the mouth of the river that opened into the sea. That would be the direction any raiders would likely come from.

Several of Hróarr’s men lay napping around them. Any attack would likely come at night, so they had spent last night and the night before watching and waiting.

Two nights of nothing. Two nights of sleeping on the hard ground when Cenric could have been in his own bed, lying next to his own wife. Here it was the third night and Cenric was ready to call this whole thing off if they didn’t see enemy ships soon.

If it turned out Cenric had left Brynn, had argued with her for no reason, he was never going to let Hróarr live it down. He didn’t believe his cousin would deliberately trick him, but it was infuriating all the same.

“How is Ovrek?” Perhaps Cenric should have used the Valdari king’s title, but that seemed like a Hyldish thing to do. Cenric tossed the bone dice, which came up with four marks. That meant he could move any of his pieces a total of four spaces. He paused, considering his next move on the board.

Hróarr’s pieces were converging to one side, trying to break through the formation Cenric had set up around his king piece.

“Good,” Hróarr replied. “Strong as an ox and healthy as a boar.”

“Aelgar is sickly.” Cenric looked pointedly up to Hróarr. “Some people think he won’t last the year.” Cenric was offering brutal honesty, signaling that he wanted honesty back.

Hróarr’s dark brows twitched.

“So, I will ask again.” Cenric placed one of his Hylds, not the king, in front of Hróarr’s advancing line. That was two spaces. He moved two others forward by one space each, ending his turn. “How is Ovrek?”

Hróarr inhaled a breath, studying the board. “He’s past fifty.” Hróarr tossed his dice before moving a few of his own pieces, advancing on Cenric’s line. “But I expect he has more than a few good years left.”

“Aelgar’s aldermen are loyal,” Cenric said.

“Ovrek’s jarls are learning to have a king,” Hróarr admitted. “But they are learning fast.”

What Hróarr meant was that Ovrek still struggled to unite his jarls. It was a hard thing for many of them who had been their own masters for as long as anyone could remember.

“Who would be king after Aelgar, do you think?” Hróarr asked the question offhandedly, not looking from the tafl board.

“Hard to say,” Cenric admitted. “I hear Alderman Torswald is powerful. Paega of Glasney could make a claim, but I doubt he has the ambition.” Cenric’s fist clenched at the thought of Brynn’s first husband.

Hróarr cocked his head at Cenric, seeming interested. “Of course, a man who recently took the king’s niece for himself might have his own ambitions.”

Cenric shook his head dismissively. “I’m not an atheling.”

Hróarr frowned, not recognizing the foreign word.

“I don’t come from kingly stock,” Cenric explained.

“If a man had enough spears at his command, no one would care,” Hróarr countered. “Hire a few thousand mercenaries.”

Cenric smirked at that. “And where would I get the silver to pay them?”

This was conjecture, nothing but fancy. Cenric and Hróarr had often made plans like this as boys, speaking of adventures that would never be had and conquests that would never be undertaken.

Hróarr shrugged. “Where’d you get the silver to pay the men when you retook Ombra?”

Cenric’s cousin already knew the answer to that. “Ovrek.”

The Valdari king could be a hard ruler, but he was generous with those who were loyal. He’d given Cenric two ships and thirty men to reclaim his inheritance.

Ombra had been years without an alderman by that time and Cenric had assumed he’d have to fight to retake the shire. Despite that, Cenric had ended up doing far less fighting than he or Ovrek had expected. Cenric had turned up to find his aunt Aegifu running the house and the main estate.

Aegifu had declared Cenric the rightful alderman and scurried back off to her own farm. Some of the wealthier thanes had objected, but most had come around to swearing loyalty to Cenric. Olfirth was one of the last hold outs.

“And they are my men now, not mercenaries,” Cenric corrected.

The men Ovrek had sent with him were former thralls who had been granted freedom in exchange for fighting for Ovrek. Edric had been one of them. Those men had been in Valdar too long to return to their old lives, but there was too much suspicion between them and the Valdari for them to stay in Valdar. They now made up the core of Cenric’s thanes.

Hróarr stroked his beard, seeming to consider that. “You’re right. You’re too poor to be a king.”

Cenric laughed, taking his turn to toss the dice. “I have enough to do managing my own people. I don’t need to deal with the rest of Hylden. The other aldermen dislike me as it is.”

“Which does make me wonder.” Hróarr’s dark eyes watched as Cenric moved his pieces across the board. “Why is such a poor man, so disliked by the other aldermen, marrying a king’s daughter?”

Cenric bristled this time. “I’ve already married Brynn. And I’m not that poor.”

Hróarr waved his hand at Cenric’s tone. “For a king, you are. Which means you are poor for a king’s daughter.”

Cenric glared at his cousin. Calling him poor once was a jest. Calling him poor three times in a row was venturing into insult.

Hróarr studied the tafl board, not meeting Cenric’s glower.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, ask it.” Cenric didn’t like where this was going. There had been a time when he and Hróarr had nothing and no one but each other. They had been closer than full-blooded siblings, closer than twins.

Somehow, Cenric had taken for granted that they always would be. But now his cousin was a Valdari mercenary, and he was a Hyldish alderman. Things were more complicated.

“Why did you marry Aelgar’s niece?” Hróarr’s question was blunt and bordering on accusation, but Cenric was glad to be getting to the point.

“Ombra needs a sorceress,” Cenric said. “Brynn was the first one willing.”

“A king’s daughter volunteered to marry you?” Hróarr’s skepticism was bordering once again on insulting.

Cenric almost began to defend himself, but the best defense was often an attack. “Brynn didn’t want me to come here.”

Hróarr grunted. “Hyldish women are like that, I hear. Fearful, whimpering things.”

“She thinks you’re lying about this raid.” Cenric cocked his head at Hróarr. “Or if it’s real, she thinks you’re working with the raiders and planning to split the silver I pay you once you repel them.”

Hróarr’s brows rose. “Well, that’s a good idea.” He looked back to the mouth of the river. “Clever, actually. I should try that one some time.” He turned back to Cenric. “I don’t suppose you know of any particularly gullible landholders along the coast?”

Cenric made his moves on the board and passed the dice back to Hróarr. “Brynn is my wife. No matter who else she might have been.”

“I see.” Hróarr tossed the dice and paused, counting how many moves he would be able to make next. “She doesn’t seem too happy about you being Valdari.”

“I think she just doesn’t like you.”

“Why? I’m nothing but charm.” Hróarr chuckled to himself at that.

Cenric stared toward the mouth of the river. If these raiders would just show themselves, then Cenric could fight them, kill them, and go home. “I let you have Vana.”

Hróarr bristled a little at that.

“She chose you,” Cenric said before his cousin could argue. “And I accepted it.” Cenric had hated it, but he’d accepted it.

The two of them had found Vana trying to build a shelter in the forest. She had been one of many orphans struggling to survive in the wake of Ovrek’s war. She had been a nobody, just a farm girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sifma, Ovrek’s wife, had taken her on as a servant in much the same way Ovrek had taken on Hróarr and Cenric.

The three of them had been little more than children. Then one day they weren’t children at all.

Cenric had fancied himself in love with Vana. Her rejection had stung, but he’d understood. At the time, Cenric had little to recommend him. He’d had no land, and little wealth. Hróarr had already been the leader of a ship and a small mercenary company. His cousin could offer stability and safety that Cenric hadn’t been able to provide.

Now, Cenric could see Vana’s rejection was for the best. It had given him the push to retake Ombra. Without Vana turning him down, Cenric might not have reclaimed his family lands, certainly not as quickly as he had.

Not to mention, Cenric never would have met Brynn.

Hróarr made a dismissive gesture as he moved his tafl pieces. “So I should just accept your Hyldish witch, is that what you’re saying?”

“If you want to be welcome in my house, yes.”

Hróarr leaned back against the brace of the smithy, studying Cenric. “Well,” he said at length, “she does serve good wine.”

Boats.

Cenric turned at the thought from Snapper.

Boats! The dog leapt out of the darkness, coming into the light of the smithy. He had been roaming in the dark, but it seemed he was the first to sense the approach of their enemies.

Where? Cenric reached for Snapper, stroking the dog’s coat.

Snapper sent back an image of the river mouth with two dark shapes crouched low on the water.

Cenric turned back to Hróarr. “Looks like you didn’t lie.”

Hróarr glanced down to the tafl board. “Good thing for me, too. Your king has almost escaped.” Hróarr kicked at the man nearest to him. “Good news,” he barked. “Time for killing.” The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss.

Cenric roused Anders and Kalen, both who had slept in their battle gear. He himself had worn his armor and now pulled on his helm.

Kalen stood close at his back. The boy’s nervousness made his borrowed mail shirt rattle, but Cenric ignored it. He would only embarrass Kalen by pointing it out.

Anders was more experienced. He stood at Cenric’s side with easy confidence. They marched out of the smithy, into the crisp night air.

Like a pack of wolves circling their prey, Hróarr’s men came out from between the wattle and daub houses. They’d had the villagers move to the far side of the village, the half farthest from the water.

As the raiders drifted closer to shore, the village appeared asleep and unprepared. What they didn’t know was that Hróarr’s heavily armed mercenaries lay ready to strike.

Cenric passed his spear to Kalen and drew his own sword. Adjusting his shield on his left arm, Cenric waited a moment until Hróarr marched up beside him. Under cover of darkness, they joined Hróarr’s men as they slank from the shelter of the buildings into the narrow streets of the village.

Snapper stayed close to Cenric’s side, sensing the change in mood. Friends?

No, Cenric sent back. Enemies .

Snapper didn’t argue as he usually did.

Back, Cenric ordered.

Snapper obeyed, falling back a few steps to let Cenric go in front.

The raiders would have to approach from the narrow inlet, up the main street of the village. “Street” was a generous term. More accurately, it was a mostly straight passage between the wattle and daub huts, but the important thing was that it would force the raiders to come from a single direction.

Cenric and Hróarr broke off at the agreed signal, drawing two groups of warriors to either side. They crouched in the shadows of the huts, waiting.

It would be easier to conceal themselves inside the huts, but most of the huts had only one door. There was too much risk of becoming trapped inside if their enemies managed to spot them and block the entrances.

Hunkered in the shadow of the huts, Cenric waited. Across from him, he could see the vague outline of Hróarr and Hróarr’s warriors waiting. At Cenric’s back, Kalen had stopped shaking. Snapper waited by Cenric’s feet, ears up, body stiff.

Cenric couldn’t hear anything over the rustle of the wind and his own pounding heart, but Snapper could. See them?

Snapper snorted and trotted out from between the buildings. He kept to the shadows, his black and grey coat helping him blend into the darkness.

The dog disappeared around the hut, trotting toward the shore. Boats, Snapper said. He shared his view of the raiders, showing two longships on the dark water, oars dipping silently as they glided toward shore.

Watch, Cenric ordered.

Snapper sent back the impression of frustration and dropped to his haunches.

Snapper?

Boats. Now Snapper could see the longships gliding closer, running up the shore.

Cenric tensed, ready to give the signal.

Friends? Snapper’s question followed the image of dark shapes with axes and spears leaping ashore.

Back, Cenric ordered. Snapper, come here .

Whining, Snapper nonetheless obeyed. He leapt to his feet and scampered back up the hill.

Cenric let off a whistle meant to sound like a bird, the signal that the enemy had landed. Across from him, he saw Hróarr wave, signaling that he’d heard.

Snapper skidded to a stop in front of Cenric, looking up in confusion. Snapper often had trouble understanding that people might want to hurt him. After all, he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

Good boy, Cenric sent. His hands were full with his sword and shield, but he made sure the dog understood. Good Snapper.

Snapper’s tongue lolled happily out the side of his mouth. Snapper good boy! came his joyous response.

Stay here, Cenric ordered.

Snapper responded with confusion, but he dropped onto his haunches again. After the incident with Nettles, he seemed to understand that Cenric was serious.

The raiders moved quietly, but their excitement got the better of them. As they came closer, their footsteps turned into a pounding a moment before a roar went up, men’s voices yelling with the goal of striking terror.

That was the signal.

Cenric let off an answering war cry, raising his sword. Hróarr’s great bellow came next followed by the roars of the rest of their men.

They swarmed out from between the houses, falling upon the raiders the moment the men came in sight. It was dark, but Cenric could see the outline of a man with a long axe. He had the element of surprise and cleaved across the man’s ribs before his foe had the chance to defend.

Cenric wished it had been light enough to see the raiders’ faces. Instead of frightened villagers, they were met with more than thirty armed and ready warriors.

Cenric’s shield smashed into another man’s earning a startled yelp. Anders clung close to his side, edge of his shield pressed against Cenric’s, guarding his lord’s flank.

Kalen hovered at Cenric’s back, using the spear to jab at any man who came too close.

Cenric could hear Hróarr and the other men yelling war cries, but beyond that there was only the fleshy targets in front of him.

The raiders faltered. Cenric and the mercenaries advanced. Cenric’s foot caught on a fallen body, but he kept his footing. They pressed forward.

The raiders broke, turning and running back to their longships.

Cenric and the others gave chase, charging down the hill toward the water. They cut down raiders as they were able to catch them, bellowing and roaring the whole time.

The raiders fled, not looking back. They were like polecats who had tried to raid a henhouse, only to find it guarded by bears.

The raiders scrambled aboard their ships, trying to shove the vessels off the beach and back into the water. Hróarr’s men swarmed the nearest vessel, cutting down the raiders who struggled to reach it.

To their credit, the raiders put up a fight, slashing and stabbing. Cenric’s allies pressed in close around him, though not quite in formation.

The nearest ship jostled, men scrambling to leap aboard and take the oars while others worked to push it free of the riverbank.

Cenric pursued, wading into knee-deep water after their quarry. He cut down the first man he reached, his sword shearing through an unarmored back. Cenric swooped on the next, stabbing through the raider’s spine.

A rope flew over his head to loop over the prow of the ship. Several of Hróarr’s men grappled it from the beach, using the rope to stop the boat from going back out to sea.

The raiders inside the ship spun, turning to stab down with spears at the mercenaries on the ground.

The flash of a spear in the moonlight dove for Cenric’s head. He raised his shield at the same time a spear shot past him, stabbing up into the man overhead.

Kalen was putting his borrowed weapon to good use. The boy yanked the weapon free, ready to strike the next man.

“Good hit, Kalen!” Cenric shouted, grinning fiercely as he cut down another raider.

The rope around the prow dragged the boat backward and Cenric scrambled out of the way. Kalen skittered close behind him.

Hróarr’s mercenaries leapt up on the other side of the ship, hacking and stabbing anything onboard that moved.

Past them, Cenric made out the dark shape of the second longship fleeing back down the river. Cenric hoped they would spread tales of a well-defended and well-armed Ombra.

Slogging back to the shore, Cenric picked out Hróarr’s dark figure towering amongst the other men.

“Are we getting paid?” Hróarr asked, humor in his tone.

Cenric laughed under his helmet, out of breath, but riding the euphoria of victory. “You’re getting paid.”

Sunrise saw the villagers of Leofton reluctantly thanking their lord as they piled the bodies of the raiders in midden heaps.

Hróarr’s mercenaries had killed some twenty or so raiders, probably over half of the group that had come on the two ships. The raiders had likely matched them for numbers last night, but these were poorly armed men, probably farmers who had been able to find weapons and ships.

None of the men had armor beyond a few leather breastplates and bracers. A few of their weapons were halfway decent, but they had never stood a chance against veteran mercenaries.

Among the defenders, the only man among them who wasn’t a veteran was Kalen.

Kalen sported a new silver ring, proudly displayed on his forearm. He’d only killed one man, but he’d been steady and fought for his lord when it mattered. It was only a matter of time before he would earn his own war-gear.

Snapper ran in circles, barking at the village children in some game only they understood.

Hróarr’s ship had been hidden downstream, but it had been dragged out and they were preparing to head back.

“I don’t think that headman is grateful,” Hróarr muttered, looking over to the elder in question.

Cenric shrugged. “So long as he remembers to pay his tribute, I don’t care.”

The elderly man inspected the former Valdari ship. Hróarr had wanted to keep it for one of his men, but Cenric was letting the village have it. The vessel was small, but sturdy and should help the villagers forget that they’d had to house and feed thirty mercenaries.

“We should have you home by nightfall, then,” Hróarr said.

“Good.” That was the best news Cenric had heard all week.

It had been four days and Cenric was more eager than ever to return home. He had work to do and, more than that, he missed his wife. He felt as if he owed her an apology, though he couldn’t have said what for.

“What’s this?” Hróarr cocked his head at a commotion near the edge of the village.

Cenric glanced up to see a figure scrambling along the beach, trying to dodge rocks from the shrieking villagers. Several stones struck the stranger, but he kept moving.

It appeared to be a man covered in mud, pale as a fish and his beard braids wet and stringy. He looked remarkably like a drowned rat.

“Lord!” the figure cried out in Valdari. “Lord!” Half-running, half-crawling, the figure scrambled low toward Hróarr. “Mercy, lord!”

The villagers converged, men, women, and children snatching up sticks and stones, ready to beat the stranger to death.

“Hold,” Cenric ordered, raising a hand. They ignored him the first time, so he stepped forward, raising his voice. “I said hold!”

The people jumped at that, seeming to remember suddenly the corpses they had cleared from the beach this morning—and who was responsible. They glared at the stranger, but let him half-crawl to grovel before Hróarr.

Hróarr did not move closer, but he motioned for his men to allow the stranger to approach. “So, you survived, but your friends left you behind?” Hróarr shook his head. “I hate it when that happens.”

The stranger bowed, hands planted on the ground before him. “You are a Valdari lord.” It was not a question.

“Aye,” Hróarr answered. “But I’m fighting for Alderman Cenric, here. Took money to stop you and your friends, unfortunately.”

Throwing oneself on the mercy of the highest-ranking person present was a humiliating, if recognized practice. There was a chance at life, but there was also the risk of an ignominious death and even if mercy was given, a stain of shame.

“Take me back to Valdar with you, lord,” the stranger pleaded. “I just want to go home.”

Hróarr grunted. “Found out the raiding wasn’t to your liking? You should have thought of that before you came raiding.”

The stranger fumbled with something on his hand, holding up a metal object covered in mud. “I offer this, lord. You can have this, just take me home.”

Hróarr did not reach for the offered object, he was too clever for that, but one of his men stepped forward and collected it for him. Hróarr’s mercenary handed it to his lord.

Hróarr studied what appeared to be a finger ring. “We could just kill you and take this anyway,” he pointed out.

“Please, lord.”

Hróarr exhaled, sounding bored. “What do you say, alderman? Is it sufficient to buy this raider’s life?” He extended the ring to Cenric.

Cenric took it, a little surprised. None of the other raiders had much of value on them. There had been iron amulets and one or two silver arm rings, but aside from their bloody clothing —which the villagers had salvaged anyway—nothing worth looting.

This, on the other hand, was a gold finger ring set with a sizable ruby. The craftsmanship was impressive, and it had even been engraved inside the band. That wasn’t unusual. Many pieces this elaborate were commissioned as gifts with the name of their giver inscribed as a permanent reminder for the receiver. AE caught Cenric’s eye. He looked closer.

PAEGA HAD ME MADE.

Cenric’s heart stuttered for a moment. He scrubbed at the dirty band, wondering if he’d read it wrong, but no. His first reaction was the hate he had started feeling at any mention of Brynn’s first husband. A moment later…how was this possible? What were the chances?

“Where did you get this ring?” Cenric demanded, spinning on the raider.

The man was already prostrate, but if possible, he sank lower. “I won it.”

“Won it how?” Cenric demanded. “Who gave it to you?”

“Cenric?” Hróarr cocked one eyebrow.

Cenric shook his head, indicating he would explain later. He looked back to the raider. “Tell me where you got this.”

“Kyrna!” the raider stammered. “We stopped in Kyrna on our way here and I won it in a dice game.”

Cenric’s fist clenched around the ring. “Who? Give me a name.”

“I don’t remember.” The raider shook his head quickly, then seemed to realize his life was depending on this. “I think he was with Ielda’s crew. They’re planning to winter in Kyrna.”

Ielda. Cenric didn’t know the name, but he looked to Hróarr.

His cousin nodded carefully, watching Cenric. Hróarr switched into Hyldish, probably so the raider wouldn’t understand. “He’s a new warlord or wants to be. Recently started doing mercenary work last year.”

“This ring has the name of Brynn’s first husband,” Cenric said in Hyldish.

Hróarr frowned at that. “His name wouldn’t happen to be a common one, would it?”

Cenric shook his head. “His shire was raided in the spring.”

“I see.” Hróarr knew what Cenric did—that only a full-time mercenary who didn’t have to worry about spring planting could have done it.

“They killed her son.” Cenric looked back to the raider.

The raiders who’d murdered Brynn’s son had taken the gold and silver in the estate. That was the way raids worked. They had probably taken this ring, too, and headed back to Valdar. Somehow it had ended up with what appeared to be a random farmer.

Morgi had delivered a sign straight into Cenric’s hands—quite literally.

Brynn said she didn’t dare ask for justice, but she had to want it. Who wouldn’t? The desire for justice gnawed at Cenric and Osbeorn hadn’t even been his son.

Hróarr exhaled a long breath out his nose, almost like he was giving himself time to think. “Kyrna is only a day’s sail from here.”

Kyrna was a southern town in Valdar, but it was still in the far northern sea. That would mean another two days away from Brynn, not including the time they might need to spend searching Kyrna.

Cenric tried to think. What was the right course? He looked over to Anders, standing with his shield slung across his back. “I need you to take a message to my wife, Lady Brynn.” Cenric pointed to Leofric, the village headman. “Your people will take him to my estate on this ship I’ve just gifted you.”

Leofric scowled, but he seemed to know better than to argue.

Anders shuffled his feet, but also did not argue. “What should we tell the lady, lord?”

“Tell her I will be home in another three days from now.” Cenric looked briefly to Hróarr. “I have business to attend in Kyrna. Business about Osbeorn.”

Anders frowned at that. “Osbeorn?”

“She’ll know.” Cenric didn’t want to say any more than that through a messenger. They had no scribe or monk in this town, so it wasn’t as if he had the tools to write her a letter. Cenric would tell Brynn the rest in person.