Chapter 3 Brynn #2
It was an exciting life that had made Hróarr and all his men wealthy almost overnight, but it was not the sort of life that could be lived for long. The twice-yearly sea crossings and constant movement were a lifestyle that favored the young.
Vana hesitated in answering. “To live on a longship is to make all the world your home, but when all the world is your home, somehow none of it is.” She shook her head. “I have enjoyed tending the same hearth these past months, that is all.”
Brynn had assumed Vana to be enjoying a life of endless possibilities, but perhaps endless possibilities, like endless journeys, grew tiresome.
“Shall I start unloading, lady?” Esa directed the question at Brynn.
“Wait,” Brynn said. “Cenric will tell us where to go.”
Kalen called out to several of the Valdari boys, and they scrambled up into the ship to help with the trunks. As they spoke, Kalen gave another string of directions, slipping into the language easily as far as Brynn could tell.
Brynn felt a little relief at that—it was good to have another person who could translate for her if needed.
“It’s not the cities of the south,” Vana admitted with a sigh. “But Ovrek has done well for himself.”
Brynn made no comment. Ovrek appeared to be doing quite well for himself, better than she would have thought. Aelgar’s cities were larger, the walls more impressive, but that was building on generations of Hyldish kings. Ovrek was the first of his kind, growing a kingdom from the roots up.
That he had accomplished all this in the space of a decade was so impressive it was terrifying.
Guin flailed left and right, mesmerized by the riot of new sights, smells, and sounds, oblivious to the danger that they might be facing.
Cenric returned to stand beside Brynn, offering her a smile. “Welcome to Istra, my love.”
Brynn tried not to let her nervousness show, but perhaps some was acceptable. No one would expect her to be completely at ease in a strange land, would they?
“Ovrek wasn’t planning for me to bring a wife, so there are some additional preparations being made for us.” Cenric sounded at ease, at least. “I’ll have the men take the ship down the beach near Hróarr’s and set up our tents.”
“I see.” Brynn surveyed the town around her.
Kalen and the Valdari boys readied the trunks as the ship pushed off rowed by Cenric’s thanes, following a waving man who jogged down the beach ahead of them. Presumably, that was one of Hróarr’s men who would show them where they could drag the vessel ashore.
Esa hovered at Brynn’s back, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She looked small and vulnerable, her auburn curls bouncing round her face like even they were frightened.
Hróarr spoke with the steward in a booming, jovial tone. Brynn might not understand the words, but she recognized the manner. She wondered distantly if perhaps Hróarr was this friendly with everyone. Perhaps this was just how he was.
Cenric glanced to Guin. “We have a meeting. You might want Esa to keep her.”
Brynn handed the little dyrehund to Esa and she immediately began whining. Guin whirled on Cenric, ears pinned back as she let off another growl.
Guin never growled at Brynn and not even Esa, but she growled and snarled at Cenric quite often.
Cenric remained silent for another moment. Brynn was getting used to her husband doing that with the dyrehunds, but it was still odd at times.
“What does she say?” Brynn watched as the little dyrehund went back to squirming.
He grimaced slightly. “She still won’t speak to me.” Cenric could hear the thoughts of all his dyrehunds, and while Guin should be of an age to communicate with him, she hadn’t.
Brynn looked to the puppy, tempted to take her back.
“She’ll be fine, Brynn.” Cenric took her arm and hooked it through his.
“Where are we going?” Brynn inhaled, composing herself.
“We’re heading to see Ovrek.”
Surprise and consternation almost made her stumble. “So soon?”
“He wanted to see me as soon as I arrived.” Cenric said the words calmly, but in a tight way that told her he was bracing himself.
Like most things thus far, Brynn wasn’t sure how to take this information. Was this normal?
Kings in Hylden did not send for their aldermen at the drop of a pin, but this was not Hylden. This might be normal, for all she knew.
“But I’m not ready to meet a king.” Brynn plucked at the edges of her unadorned mantle, the words tripping out awkwardly. “I’m dressed for traveling.”
“So am I,” Cenric offered a slight smile. “You don’t have to fret, Brynn.”
She didn’t like any of this, but she refused to miss this meeting just because of her clothes.
Ovrek’s steward led them past the docks and dozens of smoking forges into what appeared to be the proper portions of the city. They walked through streets planned out far better than she’d seen in Glasney and even in some parts of Ungamot.
She’d thought Valdar a loose confederation of clan chiefs, jarls, and village headmen. Perhaps what she and her people had heard of them had been understated.
They passed a forge with open walls where men worked at smelting alongside boys covered in soot. They hammered at clumps of glowing ore, shaping the iron into long lengths of spearheads. At least a dozen more were cooling on racks.
Brynn tried not to show a reaction. A gaggle of children rushed past them, play-fighting with sticks that had been fashioned into the likeness of spears.
The flaps of their woolen caps flew around their faces, framing ruddy cheeks and snotty noses.
They shouted at each other in Valdari, running this way and that.
No one acknowledged them when they raced by, but no one scolded them when they got underfoot, either. The little ones play-fought, sparring with a sloppiness not unlike Guin’s playfighting with Snapper.
Brynn’s chest tightened heavily, that distant sadness calling to her the way it did at random times. Her son would never run carefree through streets like this. He’d barely been walking when he had been killed.
“Brynn?” Cenric must have noticed her watching.
Brynn cleared her throat, looking ahead. “Forgive me. They seem to be having a time of it.”
“They’re making the most of youth,” Cenric chuckled. “We’ve all had our time with children’s games.”
Brynn and her sister hadn’t. If they had, she didn’t remember it. Whenever she had children with Cenric, she hoped they would get to play like this. She hoped they would grow up in a world that was safe enough.
Brynn’s chest squeezed a little at the thought. She’d expected to be carrying Cenric’s child by now. She was trying to be patient but was bracing herself to be disappointed again this month. Why was it taking so long?
Their group continued their walk up from the docks, accompanied by Hróarr, Vana, Kalen, Esa, and their Valdari attendants. Guin barked once at the playing children, but Esa shushed her.
Words flew past Brynn, conversations between the Valdari. They washed over her like a constant hum, reminding her she was in a foreign place.
Despite the approaching festival, people were hard at work everywhere. Men worked at the forges and along the beach, repairing boats.
This place was abuzz with industry, far more than she had thought to expect. Why did it feel like there was something more to all this work? Like they were preparing for something.
Their small group walked up toward the main hall, looming over the harbor like a crouching beast. Its roof rose to a high peak, thrusting up like a giant’s spear.
It was by far the largest building in sight, sprawling in a collection of additions with varied stages of weathering, indicating that Ovrek had added to it in phases.
The main entrance of the hall sprawled before them, gaping like an empty maw. A ramp of packed earth shaped into steps with pine beams led up to it. Their group began to ascend the steps.
They drew closer to what must be Ovrek’s hall and Brynn could make out collections of shields strung over the main entrance.
They were all worn, showing damage, and one had even been split in half.
They depicted patterns and shapes, and some had been painted with the likeness of bears, whales, and other animals.
“Shields of the jarls Ovrek defeated,” Cenric explained. He pointed to one with a blue stripe down the center. “The shield of Jarl Umar. I collected that one for him.” Pride colored her husband’s tone at the words.
“Was it a great battle?” Brynn asked.
“It lasted past sundown.”
Brynn took that as a yes. She adjusted her grip on his arm. She didn’t like to think how many times her husband had death’s teeth but a hair’s breadth from his throat.
“That is Ovrek’s battle standard. It means he is home.” Cenric pointed to a triangular piece of white cloth emblazoned with the black shape of a twisting serpent.
“A snake?” Brynn stared up curiously. “Are there snakes in Valdar?” Hylden had snakes in the southern part of the kingdom, but Ombra had only the occasional lizard.
“It’s to honor Havnar, the First of Fathers,” Cenric explained. “These islands were ravaged by a great serpent, a she-troll, and a monstruous wolf. Havnar defeated all three so that his kin could settle these islands. The serpent was the greatest of them all.”
Brynn noted that, committing it to memory. She knew Havnar was the ancestor all Valdari worshipped to some extent. They honored the other gods—Llyr of the sea and Gwydrun of the forge, for instance—but Havnar always seemed first among them. “What is a she-troll?”
“I’ve never had to explain it before,” Cenric admitted, brow furrowing. “She was a monster. Half skeleton, half woman.”
That made no sense to Brynn, but perhaps it had been a metaphor.
Their group passed under the line of broken shields, into the warmth and smoke of the great hall. Men with braided beards ringed them from all sides, some sitting with cups of mead, others standing to speak in small groups.