Chapter 8 Cenric
Cenric
“We’ve been making spearheads with ash mixed into the iron,” Ovrek explained. He stood over rows and rows of the weapons, proudly displaying the wares to Cenric.
Cenric took in the sheer scale of their work. There had to be hundreds if not thousands of spearheads packed in wood shavings, stacked in pine crates inside the storehouse. Cenric had never seen so many in one place.
Ovrek handed one of the spearheads to Cenric. “See?”
Cenric took the weapon, testing its weight. It was nothing particularly remarkable, but it was sturdy enough to kill. The metal was smooth and sharp.
As if reading his thoughts, Ovrek gestured back toward the forges. “I have a craftsman from the southern continent who has been teaching our smiths to work metal in the way of the great smiths in the south.”
Cenric wondered where all this ore had come from. Had they traded for all the iron ingots or had they found a mine somewhere on the islands? “These would be used to arm your men?”
“Those of my household and those of some of the jarls, yes.”
Cenric made no comment. A part of him, the boy who had carried a shield for Ovrek, was excited.
The thought of welcoming his old friends, his old liege lord, into his homeland was in some ways thrilling. These were as much his people as the folk of Ombra.
When Ovrek spoke, it was easy to imagine a future with him claiming kingship over Hylden.
When Cenric might once again be surrounded by people he understood and who understood him.
He loved his homeland, but he had felt more welcomed with the dyrehunds than the people of Ombra for the past years.
Not until Brynn had he felt so at ease, perhaps because she was an outsider, too.
But in the back of his mind, he pictured Brynn’s reaction if she saw all this.
If they pledged fealty to Ovrek, that would mean a war. Aelgar would not let the northlands go without a fight. Last year, that would not have bothered Cenric nearly as much as it did now.
He had given oaths of allegiance to Aelgar, but he’d sworn loyalty to Ovrek’s warband long before. Some would hate him for it, but mostly people in Hylden and mostly those who already hated him for being part Valdari.
Ovrek must have noticed his hesitation. “Have you lost your taste for blood, my boy?”
Cenric didn’t rise to the bait. “I am just wondering if I am being threatened.”
“Threatened? No. I don’t threaten my friends.” Ovrek clapped Cenric on the shoulder easily. “I would much rather us stay friends.”
So, this was a threat. Ovrek was showing Cenric that he would be taking Hylden one way or another. Cenric liked to think it would pain Ovrek to fight him, but Ovrek didn’t seem hesitant.
“If I’d known you were looking for a wife, I could have given you Tullia.”
Ovrek couldn’t be serious.
“Your daughter is married.” Cenric clearly recalled her wedding.
“Newly widowed, as it happens.” Ovrek let off a sigh that might have been regretful. “My son-in-law was dear to me, but Sweyn was not appreciative of what he had been given.”
That surprised Cenric. Sweyn had been one of Ovrek’s fellow veterans who had accompanied him from Kelethi. He’d never been particularly cunning, but he had been fierce. “Sweyn turned against you?”
“Foolish, I know.” Ovrek looked toward the entrance of the storehouse, out toward the sea.
The king did that often, as if the unconquered lands of Hylden called him.
“He joined several others in speaking against me. I had to deal with them.” Ovrek sighed.
“My daughter hasn’t spoken to me since, but she will come around. ”
Perhaps Brynn was wearing off on him, but Cenric again felt he was being threatened. Ovrek had disposed of one unruly son-in-law. What was to say he wouldn’t do away with another?
“You’re an alderman,” Ovrek added, sounding contemplative. “You can afford two wives, yes?”
Hadn’t they agreed last night about only having one wife? Everything about this felt wrong. Cenric glanced over his shoulder. He had the sudden urge to check on Brynn. “One wife is plenty, lord.”
Ovrek laughed at that, breaking the tension.
Cenric smiled tightly. This conversation was a jest. It had to be. Valdari men of means did sometimes take multiple wives, and it wasn’t unheard of in Hylden, but Cenric had no illusions about ever doing better than Brynn.
They fit together. They worked well together. She was competent as keeper of the household and likeable, even to people who didn’t like Cenric. Her lineage would bring prestige to his bloodline for generations to come. She was even wealthy. Cenric knew full well how lucky he was.
Even if Cenric had been of equal status with Tullia, even if he could become rich enough to support two kings’ daughters, and even if his patron goddess hadn’t made it clear she disapproved of multiple wives, Cenric knew better than to get greedy.
But Ovrek must have been joking, because he dropped the matter. “Will your sorceress kill you in your sleep when she realizes you’re siding with Valdar?”
Cenric didn’t appreciate that Ovrek assumed he would have Cenric’s loyalty, but he tried to hide it. “Brynn could kill me just as easily while I’m awake.”
Ovrek laughed at that. Did he think it was a joke? The king gestured for Cenric to follow him back out of the storehouse and into the bustling activity of the shipyards. “The rest of my jarls should arrive by tonight, which means nothing but meetings tomorrow.”
Cenric offered a half-smile. “That’s the business of being king.”
“Bah!” Ovrek spat. “I am not suited to managing the land like a farmwife counting bowls of butter. I have Sifma for that. I am meant for conquest, Cenric. Warring and looting.”
That was Ovrek’s way of saying he needed more treasure. The coffers he’d taken from his enemies in his rise to power must be running low. This meant he needed to seek wealth across the sea once again.
Come to think of it, Cenric had not seen any gold since arriving in Istra. Had Ovrek run out of it? Perhaps traded it away for the vast amount of iron even now being hammered into spearheads?
This did answer Cenric’s question of how long Ovrek could keep giving out as much wealth as he had. Valdari wanted their leaders to be generous, but Ovrek’s level of generosity had become unsustainable. To keep giving out lands and wealth, he’d need to keep taking lands and wealth.
Would Ombra be one of those lands taken? Cenric thought of his foretelling last night—an arrow through his own neck as Snapper died and Ovrek’s banner waved over their corpses.
And what would become of Brynn if he died fighting his former friends?
Would she flee back to Ungamot? Would she be taken by Ovrek as a prize and given to some Valdari jarl?
She would be a great prize—a woman with king’s blood who had proven she could bear sons.
Or, more likely, would she die in battle with Cenric?
It would be far safer to pledge allegiance to Ovrek. At least if they did that, Cenric and his people might be able to keep the fighting out of their lands. They might do the raiding instead of being raided.
Cenric didn’t for a moment think that Aelgar would send men to help protect Ombra in a war.
The kings of Hylden had always treated Ombra as a shield against the Valdari.
A warrior didn’t waste time protecting his shield, he cowered behind it, letting it take the brunt of his enemy’s assault until he was ready to attack.
Even if Cenric hadn’t liked Ovrek as a person, even if he didn’t want to swear to this man, did he have a choice? Ombra could put up a strong fight. Brynn could put up a strong fight, but they would eventually be overrun.
Ombra’s thanes were used to repelling raids of fewer than twenty men at a time. They would be no match for a fleet of hundreds or perhaps even thousands.
If he swore to Ovrek once again, that would make him Ovrek’s man. That would make him the recipient of the king’s generosity, one of those gifted treasure and land instead of the opposite.
But Brynn. Would she see it the same way?
“Come.” Ovrek beckoned to him. “I want to show you the workhouses. Sifma has over a hundred women weaving the sails for these ships.”
Ovrek was intending to impress Cenric, and he succeeded. The king had shown him the shipyards, the storehouses, and the outside of the massive weaving houses where at least a hundred women worked to weave the sails for the many ships.
No men were permitted inside the weaving houses, but Ovrek showed him the sails ready for fitting outside. They were heavy and sturdy, dyed in bright yellows and pale blues. A single sail might take a woman a year or more to weave, but with dozens working together, the work went faster.
Snapper trotted around them in lazy circles, smelling everything and trying to meet new friends. Part of Cenric wished his life was as simple as his dog’s.
By the time Cenric headed back to the tents where his thanes and Hróarr’s people were camped, it was late in the afternoon. The feasting would begin at Ovrek’s great hall soon.
Cenric reached his tent, finding Kalen slumped against the entrance with his spear at his side. They’d left Kalen with Hróarr’s men to guard their camp while the other men were trading.
“Lord!” Kalen leapt up, scrambling. “Sorry, lord.”
“My wife?”
“Inside, lord.”
“Cenric?” Brynn called at the sound of his voice.
Cenric entered the tent to Guin’s excited yipping. The puppy leapt straight for Snapper, the two dogs greeting each other eagerly.
Puppy! Snapper dropped low, slobbering Guin with kisses.
Esa sat mending something in the corner, but it was Brynn who caught his attention.
“Cenric.” Brynn went straight to him. She usually greeted him happily, but there was almost desperation in the way she leapt for him.
He caught her, and she clung to him, squeezing tight. Cenric stroked her back. “What’s the matter?”
Brynn scared? Snapper asked, cocking his head. Even the dog felt her anxiety.