Chapter 24 Cenric
Cenric
Little about these past weeks in Valdar had been enjoyable. Cenric was returning richer than he had left, laden with cloth, ivory, and furs his men had traded for, but also gifts of walrus ivory, silver cups, lapis lazuli beads, and iron ingots from Ovrek.
The king always gave good gifts, but that he was still giving so generously after the grievous blows of the past month was telling. He wanted Cenric’s alliance.
He doubted he would be able to forget that Ovrek had considered trying to take Brynn for Tolvir. For now, he took Brynn’s advice and pretended not to know. Deep down, he vowed never to trust Ovrek again.
Loading his ship in Istra’s harbor, Cenric was glad to be leaving. Valdar was in his blood, but it was not in his bones the way Ombra was. He was eager to return home.
A yelp caught Cenric’s attention. He turned to see Tolvir rubbing his head, glaring at Hróarr from the deck of Hróarr’s ship. It seemed the man had tossed one of the bags up and Tolvir had not caught it fast enough.
“Watch yourself!” the boy snapped.
“Watch your surroundings,” Hróarr answered drily. “I called out, but you didn’t respond.”
“You have no right—”
Hróarr hurled another of the bags, this one even bigger than the first. It hit Tolvir square in the chest, and the young man stumbled back, fighting to catch it.
Hróarr had volunteered to accompany Cenric back to Ombra before he headed south once again.
It was only fitting that a jarl had a vanguard, Ovrek had said.
Cenric picked up one of the bundles of tent poles with Daven. They handed it up to where Kalen and several of the younger men worked to arrange their goods on the deck.
Kalen never complained, a fact Cenric was coming to appreciate more by the moment. Maybe he should give the boy another silver ring just for that.
Snapper watched over Guin, who appeared to have found a mussel shell farther down the beach.
Brynn and Esa worked to roll up the tent canvases and pack up what remained of their small camp. Lena, the thrall girl, helped them with her head down, jumping at commands and skirting to obey even soft-spoken Esa.
Brynn had asked Ovrek if she could take all of Tullia’s Hyldish thralls back to Hylden. Unfortunately, Ovrek had already given all the surviving thralls along with the other goods in Tullia’s household to the jarl Ingmar.
Ingmar had been the one to rally his men and attack when he realized Ovrek’s hall was burning. He deserved a reward.
Cenric went to Ingmar with Hróarr and offered to buy the girl. “My wife is fond of her and wants a translator,” had been his excuse. He had not mentioned to Ingmar or anyone else that the girl was also Istovari.
Ingmar had relented. Brynn being so obviously in Ovrek’s favor likely hadn’t hurt, either. Ingmar had given Lena as a gift to Brynn, under the condition she did what she could to heal several of his men who had been injured in the battle.
Around them, Hróarr’s men worked to load the ship. They were a few men short after the battle over a fortnight ago. Hróarr’s band had taken losses, though it could have been worse.
Several of the storehouses had been burned down or partially burned down. Thralls were still sorting through the rubble of many of them.
Stakes had been driven into the ground in front of Ovrek’s burned hall.
Atop the tallest one was Egill’s head, with the heads of his son and warriors staked on the others.
Nails had been driven through their mouths to hold them in place.
Seagulls and crows had pecked their skulls nearly clean, leaving patches of scalp and jowl behind.
Tullia might have been buried with honors, but none of the other traitors had been. That was Ovrek’s way. That was how the King of Valdar dealt with his enemies and how the warriors of Valdar and Hylden had dealt with enemies for generations.
Ovrek was gathering men to storm Egill’s lands in the coming days. Cenric knew he would lay waste to everything and kill or enslave everyone he found.
If the survivors of Egill’s family were smart, they would flee somewhere far, far south. Somewhere far enough that Ovrek couldn’t be bothered to chase them. But Cenric doubted they would flee. People always tended to deny their doom until it came upon them.
“Faster!” Hróarr bellowed, calling to all of them. “The tide waits for no one!” The large Valdari man paced around his ship, checking the hull and inspecting the vessel from prow to stern. He still seemed unsure that Egill’s men hadn’t tampered with it, but they’d found nothing wrong.
Cenric’s men had found nothing wrong with Wolf Star either, aside from a few scratches from the failed theft attempt.
“Ovrek!” Someone shouted the name the way they might call out a sighting of a whale while at sea.
Cenric turned to see the king.
Ovrek no longer walked about Istra alone. Two warriors flanked him, men from his personal household. It was a concession the king had not wanted to make, but his remaining jarls had worn him down.
Vana trailed a short distance behind, a servant at her back. She was different, somehow. Grief had made her paler, leaching color from her cheeks and lips the way Cenric had seen in men who lost too much blood.
“Ovrek.” Hróarr stopped hurling bags at Tolvir long enough to bow, not a hint of shame.
Tolvir came to the edge of Hróarr’s ship, looking down. “Father?”
Ovrek nodded up to him. “Farewell, son. I hope you will have much to tell when you return.”
Tolvir straightened just a little. “Yes, lord.”
Ovrek turned his white head toward Hróarr. “Teach him well.”
“I will.” Hróarr spoke the words solemnly, like a vow.
The king seemed like his usual self, though there was a shadow over his every word, lurking in the corners of his eyes. Who could blame him? He’d lost so much in a single night. When the Valdari king reached Cenric, he extended his hand. They clasped forearms.
Come next summer, Ovrek had promised to send settlers to farm the empty lands and reap new harvests. With Brynn, their flocks and herds would be kept healthy, and Ombra would be strengthened.
Cenric would send an annual tribute of ten adult pigs and three pots of honey back to Ovrek.
It was a pittance compared to what Ombra owed to Aelgar every year.
Cenric was surprised Ovrek had agreed to so little, but it was the spirit of the gesture, more than the amount.
It was an acknowledgement that Ovrek had the right to tribute at all.
In exchange, Ovrek was to stop raids into Ombra.
He was far more confident he could do it than Brynn and Cenric were, but it was a good deal for Cenric thus far.
Even if some of the people of Ombra might not like the newcomers, many of them already had Valdari kin.
And they had accepted Cenric as alderman, so perhaps there was still hope.
Brynn came to stand beside Cenric.
Ovrek bobbed his chin to her once.
Brynn bowed, not speaking.
Ovrek moved on, conversing with members of Hróarr’s crew and even a few of Cenric’s men who had once fought for him.
Hróarr approached Vana. He rested a hand on her arm, the big warrior becoming suddenly soft. “Come with us.”
Cenric exhaled, a vicarious feeling of resignation in his chest.
Vana caught Hróarr’s hand, peering up at him earnestly. “Stay with me.”
Hróarr ground his jaw in frustration, looking over his shoulder to Cenric.
Vana looked at him as well, but what was Cenric supposed to do?
They were both dear to him, precious friends from boyhood. There had been something comforting about knowing that his two dearest friends were looking after each other, but it seemed their fates had diverged.
“We’re going to Arnza.” Hróarr offered a hesitant smile. “I will dress you in the finest silks and feed you on persimmons, your favorite.”
Vana smiled back sadly, shaking her head.
“Please, Vana,” Hróarr pressed, taking her hands in his. “I want you with me.”
“Ovrek needs someone to run his household,” Vana said.
“Then he shouldn’t have dismissed his other concubines,” Hróarr growled.
Ovrek had several other concubines in his household who had been summarily dismissed as soon as they began fighting over who would take Sifma’s place. It was one of those things that no one had dared question.
“Why does it have to be you?” Hróarr pressed.
An unmarried, unrelated woman running the household of a man recently widowed? They all knew what would happen next. Either Vana would soon be in Ovrek’s bed, or she would make an arrangement with one of his household warriors.
Vana had no family, no close kin, and no inheritance. Women like her had to make do with lovers. She might have stayed as part of the household under Sifma’s governance, but without a lady of the household, becoming Ovrek’s woman was likely inevitable.
“He’s old enough to be your father,” Hróarr hissed, dropping his voice.
“He’s strong enough to fight and wealthy enough I won’t go hungry, even in spring,” Vana clipped back. “Not that it would matter if you stayed,” she added, tone softening into a plea.
Cenric had heard pieces of this argument from the two of them over the past weeks. If Hróarr stayed, Vana would remain with him. If he left, it would be over.
Vana wanted a household, somewhere to set up her spindle and loom and tend her own fire. Something she had apparently been telling Hróarr for some time now.
“I can’t stay in one place, Vana,” Hróarr said. “I’ve tried. The sea is in my blood. It always calls me.”
“The land calls me.” Vana’s face creased with sadness. “I wish it was different.” Vana was, in her bones, practical. It was why she had chosen Hróarr over Cenric all those years ago. It was why she was choosing Ovrek over Hróarr now.
Just as Cenric had not blamed her then, he did not blame her now. She knew what she wanted and Hróarr couldn’t give it.
“Vana…” Hróarr let off a slow breath. He tilted his face to the sky for a long moment, then he gathered her into his arms.
The big warrior squeezed her tight, tucking her under his chin. Vana wrapped her arms around his thick waist, burying her face against his chest.
They stayed like that for a long moment.
Cenric could feel a heaviness behind his breastbone as realization set in for everyone watching.
It was over.
The two former lovers pulled apart, Vana smearing tears from her cheeks. She fumbled for the silver torque around her neck.
“No,” Hróarr murmured softly.
“It was your mother’s,” Vana protested.
“Keep it.” Hróarr brushed the tears from her face, hands lingering as if to memorize the shape of her features. “It always suited you.”
Low words passed between them before Vana walked away and Hróarr threw himself back into the work of loading the ship.
All the while, Ovrek ignored the exchange. He wouldn’t steal Vana, but he wouldn’t object to her choosing him, either.
Cenric rested his hand on Brynn’s lower back for just a moment.
These past few days had been a whirlwind of madness.
He still wasn’t sure how they had come through it alive, but he was glad to have Brynn.
She was like bedrock surrounded by silt, a guiding constellation in an endless expanse of night-dark sea.
Her wise counsel, loyalty, and unwavering faith in him made him…
more. He was more a warrior, more an alderman, and more a man than he had ever been before her.
Partly because she made him better, but also because she made him believe he could be.
Brynn had known and lived with great men all her life. Surely, if she saw the seeds of greatness in Cenric, they must be there.
He thought of her uncle Aelgar then. The current king of Hylden had gifted him Brynn to start with. Certainly, Aelgar would not be pleased by their dealings with the Valdari.
Brynn shared some of Cenric’s concerns, but they had made no oaths that Aelgar could find troubling. If he questioned them sending tributes to Ovrek, they would tell him the truth—that it was to prevent raids.
The whole arrangement was far better than Cenric would have dared hope for, but it was delicate, a precise balancing of the scales.
Ovrek had been weakened. What would happen when he was once again strong?
Brynn peered up at him, offering a slight smile. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.” It was as if she had read his mind.
Cenric brushed back a loose tendril of hair from her cheek. “I know.”
“Don’t fret.” Brynn squeezed his arm. “I promise I fret enough for both of us.”
Cenric kissed her, her mouth soft and giving in response. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say.