Chapter 14 Cenric
Cenric
“You put her in the thrall pit?” Cenric demanded as he barreled toward his cousin.
“I’m keeping her from running away again,” Hróarr answered with a shrug. “That’s what the pit is for.”
Cenric closed on his cousin, fists clenched.
Ovrek stepped between them like a master breaking apart two hounds. “Hróarr. It is good to see you found the sorceress.”
Cenric rounded on Ovrek. He had just saved the king’s life. Surely his old mentor wouldn’t keep his wife imprisoned with the same traitors Cenric had just thwarted? It was hardly just. Ovrek had lost a concubine, but Cenric had saved a king. It seemed the debt, if there had been any, was paid.
At their feet, Brynn’s puppy snarled at Hróarr. For once, she’d found someone she hated more than Cenric.
Hróarr bowed to the king. The man’s tunic was torn, blood caked his temple, and he was covered in mud from head to foot.
“Did she put up a fight?” Ovrek asked, gesturing to the blood on Hróarr’s face.
Hróarr shook his head. “The bitch—”
Cenric’s fist flew, smacking square into Hróarr’s jaw, knocking his cousin back. “You are inferior to her in every way!”
If Hróarr couldn’t remember that, Cenric would pound it into his skull.
Cenric hurt Hróarr! Snapper made a whining sound. Bad Cenric.
Hróarr hurt Brynn, Cenric shot back.
Brynn! Snapper growled, hackles rising. Bad Hróarr! Bad!
Now both dyrehunds turned on Hróarr, barking their displeasure.
Hróarr stumbled, but the bigger man didn’t go down. His whole body braced, fists drawing up for a fight.
Cenric had already killed a man today. What was one more?
Ovrek’s warriors moved aside, giving them space to fight. They had missed the attack on their king, but a scuffle behind the thrall huts might satisfy their bloodlust.
Hróarr moved for Cenric, but Ovrek smacked a hand into his chest, pushing him back.
“Your cousin saved my life today.”
Hróarr shot a quick look to his king.
That statement was laden with implication. It meant Cenric was in the favor of Ovrek—at least for now—and it was a reminder to the onlookers that Cenric had been there when they had not. Never mind that Ovrek had been the one to dismiss them.
“Get the sorceress out,” Ovrek ordered. He glared down to where Dagrún and Egill still lay where they had fallen. “At least one of my men knows the honor due kings.”
Cenric stepped up to the edge of the pit. “Brynn?”
“Cenric.” His wife was on her feet, arms drawn close around her. She was filthy, covered in scratches, bruises, and the signs of having been in the forest all night long.
One of the warriors brought a rope and Cenric snatched it from him, lowering it down to Brynn. “Ovrek says you can come out.”
Brynn’s expression remained tight. Her face was red, though that might be from the cold as easily from crying. His wife grasped the end of the rope, and it took several tries, but she made it halfway up the steep side of the pit and then Cenric was able to catch her arm.
He worried that Dagrún and Egill might trouble her, but he needn’t have. The disgraced men had barely pushed themselves off the ground by the time Brynn scrambled free.
She crashed into his arms, clinging to his chest. She lowered her head, curling against him.
Cenric wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love.”
Snapper woofed happily, tail wagging. He licked Brynn’s arm, then went back to prancing around them. He dropped to his haunches, ears up as he watched them.
Guin whined, fussing over Brynn. She cast one last snarl in Hróarr’s direction before settling against Brynn’s side.
“There are monsters in the forest.” Brynn’s voice was barely audible.
“What?”
“They have a burrow under the roots of the dead yew tree,” Brynn whispered, shaking in his arms.
“Did you fight something in the woods?” Cenric demanded, speaking in Valdari to Hróarr.
His cousin deigned a look at him, though his fists remained clenched.
“What was it?” Cenric pressed.
Hróarr shot a glance back to the forest. “I don’t know.”
“Brynn says there are monsters under a dead yew tree.”
At that, Ovrek’s attention turned to Hróarr. “Yew tree?”
Hróarr almost looked ashamed as he dipped his head. Conspicuously, he switched into Hyldish. “The Grandfather Yew, lord.”
Cenric squeezed Brynn tighter. The Grandfather Yew was the most sacred place in Valdar, miles from Istra.
It was forbidden to go near it except to leave offerings and sacrifices and then only with the proper rites.
The Grandfather Yew was to remain untouched, by word of Havnar, the First of Fathers.
It was said that disturbing the tree would unleash terror and evil across the islands.
“What happened?” Ovrek stepped toward Hróarr, also speaking in Hyldish for some reason. “What did she do?”
Cenric bristled. He stood, pulling Brynn up to stand beside him. She squeezed his hand, clinging to his arm.
“Nothing, lord,” Hróarr admitted. “The yew tree was already…”
Ovrek’s eyes widened. “Already what? Speak!”
Hróarr cleared his throat. “It’s dead, lord. It’s been dead for some time, if I had to guess, lord.”
Ovrek faltered. It was just for a moment, but Cenric knew the man well enough to see. “That’s impossible,” Ovrek shot back. “We barely took—” The king cut himself off.
Cenric glanced between his cousin and the king. Hróarr had turned ashen, jaw tight as if preparing to be struck again.
“It has collapsed, and its leaves are gone.” Hróarr continued speaking Hyldish, voice dropping low. “We took too much.”
Cenric shifted his attention to Ovrek.
Something flashed in Ovrek’s eyes, something terribly like fear. The emotion was there barely a moment before the king spun on Brynn. “You trespassed on sacred ground!”
Brynn flinched against Cenric. “Believe me, I never meant to be in that place.”
“What did you do?” Ovrek bore down on Brynn.
Cenric shoved her behind him, ready to fight Ovrek if he had to. If the Valdari king came after Brynn, Cenric would take up where Egill and Dagrún left off.
Surprisingly, Hróarr intervened. “No, lord. She did nothing to the tree, she…” Hróarr hesitated. “There were things inside the standing stones.”
“Things?” Ovrek spun back on Hróarr.
Hróarr broke eye contact, almost as if he was embarrassed. “I barely believe it myself.”
“It’s not like you to waver, son,” Ovrek ordered, the endearment barked like a command.
“The Father’s Foes.” Hróarr’s tall frame crouched as he whispered, “I saw them.” He glanced to Brynn. “The sorceress and my men saw them.”
Ovrek cocked his head, blinking at Hróarr.
The men around them cast each other looks of confusion, but none dared question their king in his current mood.
Hróarr continued. “They had teeth and claws and their wounds healed too quickly. I don’t know.”
Ovrek seemed to consider that for a long moment. He was not a gullible man, but nor had he ever been one to ignore omens, either. “How did you survive?”
“They wouldn’t cross the boundary stones, lord.” Hróarr seemed to brace himself as soon as the words were out.
Ovrek’s eyes widened. “You crossed the boundary stones? Without the rites?”
Hróarr flinched. “Forgive me, lord.” Despite having shoved Brynn in the thrall pit, at least Hróarr was taking the blame for what had happened.
“Your men saw this as well?” Ovrek demanded.
“They saw Wulfwir. They did not see Jormanthar and Hesrid.”
“I would speak with them,” Ovrek commanded.
“Send them to me at once.” With the decisiveness that had won him a hundred battles and more, he turned, finally reverting to his native tongue.
“You two.” Ovrek singled out two of the younger men nearby.
“Go to the Grandfather Yew. Do not cross the stones. Return immediately and tell me what you find.”
“What’s happening?” Brynn’s gaze fluttered between them all as they switched back to Valdari.
“Ovrek is sending two men to see if the Grandfather Yew is harmed as you say,” Cenric explained.
“It was,” Brynn answered flatly. “Someone was quite thorough.”
That made the back of Cenric’s neck prickle. He gave his personal allegiance to Morgi, but it was never wise to meddle with any god or to disobey the ancestors.
The First of Fathers himself had ordered the construction of the boundary stones and the protection of the yew tree.
Generations had offered their sacrifices and prayers twice a year.
Most people only made the journey a handful of times in their lives, but villages and settlements from across Valdar sent offerings of animals to the tree.
As long as the Grandfather Yew stood, Valdar would have good fortune. Every child grew up on the tales of how it had been planted to protect the islands and how evil would be unleashed if it should come to harm.
Cenric shot a glance to Ovrek, but the king’s attention was elsewhere. He said something to Hróarr, something about the bathhouse.
The pieces clattered into place in Cenric’s mind—Tullia calling her father cursed, the questions about yew wood followed by the betrayal from Dagrún and Egill.
Ovrek must have taken pieces of the Grandfather Yew for his flagship as if it was a common oak. The most holy place in Valdar, planted by the First of Fathers himself, and Ovrek had carved it up for timber.
It was unthinkable, an act of hubris that flew in the face of everything every Valdari child was taught from infancy. Nothing worthy of doing should be done in secret and if Ovrek felt the need to keep it secret, he should have known better.
Ovrek must have sensed Cenric’s attention. His gaze shifted back to them. “I trust you will escort your wife back to your camp.” Continuing to speak in Valdari, he cast Cenric a grin. “I still expect you to feast beside me tonight. Bring her with you, if you like.”
It was a command as much as a promise of reward.
Ovrek might have done the worst thing that any Valdari could do, but he was still Ovrek. He still commanded thousands of men and had the power to hurt Brynn.