Chapter Eleven Guthnyr #2
“Swords, eh?” Halvor said. “That I should like to see.” Unlike his father, he betrayed no obvious awe at the sight of kelvehr. However, Guthnyr was well attuned to spotting those who strove to appear unimpressed.
“Show him,” Deyna told Guthnyr, scowling additional encouragement at his sullen frown.
Sighing, he drew Kohrvayl, holding the blade up to the light. He took some small pleasure in seeing the artifice slip from Halvor’s face as he stepped closer, fascinated by the sight of such untarnished, perfect steel.
“May I try a few swings?” he enquired, extending a hand in expectation.
“No,” Guthnyr stated, sliding the weapon back into its scabbard.
Tired of this dance, he turned to Torfyn.
“Your niece brought us here in search of allies,” he said.
“We are a force of freed slaves and Morvek some four hundred strong. Our intent is not commerce or thievery but rebellion and destruction of the Vortigurn’s reign.
Assist us in forging more of these weapons, and prevail upon your people to join us, and you will be well rewarded.
Also—” he met Deyna’s deepening frown with a smile “—she did indeed rise high. You now stand in the presence of Deyna Holvehlt, Tuhlvyr of the Dorunstadt Veld, albeit lately disgraced.”
A short silence followed, broken by Halvor’s laughter, which continued until he noticed his father hadn’t joined in. Instead, Torfyn stood regarding his niece in silent calculation. “Tuhlvyr?” he asked finally. “Truly?”
“Truly, Uncle,” she said.
“How?”
“By doing what you and Mam taught me to do. I stole, I lied, I schemed, and I murdered. Do that enough to the right people and one day you find yourself a Tuhlvyr.” Flicking a hand at Guthnyr, she went on, “Everything he said is true. I have acquired allies because I have no choice. If the Vortigurn doesn’t fall, I die.
Will you help me?” She moved to her uncle’s side, taking the knife from him and adding in a tone of soft solicitation, “He wasn’t lying about the reward, either.
The Dorunstadt Veld is a rich land. Aid me, and it’s yours. Every single inch of it.”
“Strikes me it’s not currently yours to give, cousin,” Halvor said. “And only the most pox-brained fool would even think about going against the Vortigurn…”
“Your mouth, boy,” Torfyn growled, levelling a hard stare at his son. “Shut it.”
Attuned as he was in spotting concealed awe, Guthnyr was equally adept in discerning the resentment of youths who find their opinions disregarded by indifferent parents.
Or, in his own case, great-grandparents.
He saw it now in Halvor’s tightened features and clenched fists.
Such was the pitch of his anger, Guthnyr felt Torfyn should have paid it more heed, but the smith appeared lost in his own thoughts.
“My scouts brought word of your four hundred Morvek days ago,” he told Guthnyr after a prolonged silence, one hand clutching his goat-hide vest. It was Torfyn’s only outward sign of fear, confirming he was no fool. “So I know you’re not lying about that, at least.”
“I’ve told you no lies,” Guthnyr stated.
“For trust is required of allies, is it not? And in the spirit of trust, I tell you this: I know full well the scale of what your niece asks of you. Our road is long and it’s like to be red with blood from end to end before we’re done.
But I would ask that you also think of the reward.
Not just the lands promised, but the chance for a life lived without the Vortigurn’s boot upon your neck.
Those who follow me are willing to risk all for that reward. Are you?”
Torfyn’s hand clutched his vest a little tighter before he straightened, putting an arm around Deyna’s shoulders.
“A question to ponder after I’ve heard my niece’s interesting stories.
You’ll eat with me tonight, blue-face, and have your answer on the morrow.
Bring your Morvek inside our walls, if you like. I’ll vouch for their safety.”
“The Morvek are not mine. And they’re fine where they are, for now.” Guthnyr afforded Torfyn a respectful nod. “But I’ll happily sit at your table, and sup your ale, if there’s any to be had here.”
“So,” Guthnyr breathed as Deyna collapsed atop him some hours later. “At least now I know where you learned how to steal.”
She lay upon his chest, their sweat mingling for a time, until slipping clear of his embrace.
It had been like this since that first night in the mine shaft at Travkagyr, ardent passion followed by swift separation.
It made him feel used, like one of the slaves she no longer owned, but not so much as to turn her away when she appeared at his side every night.
Torfyn had given him an attic above the forge, affording his niece a far more spacious room downstairs.
Having sent Sygurn back to advise Tirohk and the others of what transpired here, Guthnyr endured the evening’s feast alone, mostly ignored by Deyna and their host. His spirits, if not his suspicions, were partly mollified by the ale Torfyn provided, the first Guthnyr had tasted in this land.
While flavoursome, it lacked the potency he was accustomed to which, he reflected now, was probably for the best. Rendering himself insensible in a place like this would not be wise.
“You were overly hasty,” Deyna said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She smiled over her shoulder at his wounded expression. “In spilling so many secrets to my uncle, I mean.”
“He struck me as a man who appreciated a straightforward bargain.” Guthnyr traced a finger down her spine. “And I was bored.”
She stood, evading his touch again. “It’s grown since I was here last,” she said, moving to the room’s only window and easing the shutters open. “And there were no settlements nearby then. We may have the makings of an army after all. If they can be persuaded to join us.”
“Your uncle will see to that. I saw the way the folk here look at him.” Like folk often looked at my brother, and my sister, he thought.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of his agreement,” she said.
“One thing Torfyn Vyrnjust could never be accused of was a lack of caution. He’s been a wanted man for more than two decades.
And yet, here he is, hale as ever. My mother always said the mountains were like to crumble before my uncle met his end.
Joining us is not smart, and he is anything but stupid. ”
“Never met an outlaw who couldn’t be swayed by simple greed. And I saw enough to mark your uncle as an outlaw at heart.”
“No, he’s a smith at heart. That’s how he began. Born to the forge, like my mother, although she always hated it. Torfyn, however, has always been in love with the shaping of metal.”
“Which makes him especially useful to us.”
“Well, quite.”
Guthnyr grunted a laugh. “Just for a moment, I thought you guilty of sentiment, Tuhlvyr.”
She turned to him, naked and beautiful. A rare cloudless sky permitted bright moonlight which played over the curves and hollows of her body to enticing effect. Guthnyr’s resurgent lust came to an abrupt end when his eyes ascended to her face, finding it set in a severe, almost sneering mask.
“Don’t mistake me,” she said. “Don’t excuse me either.
I will never ask for your approval, nor do I crave redemption.
My hands are not clean, and by the time we’re done, yours will be just as soiled.
When that day comes, if I still draw breath, don’t expect me to beg forgiveness.
What we will do together is needed, but have no doubt of the price.
I will pay it without pause or complaint. Will you?”
“You know my heart is set on vengeance…”
“No. Your heart is set on saving Ruhlin ehs Kestryg because you can’t face the thought of losing another brother.
The task before us does not allow for the niceties and drama of some epic from the age of gods.
Take it from one who has spilled a river of blood in service to my goal: to win this war you may have to sacrifice all your friends. ”
“Is that what you did to become a Tuhlvyr?”
“It was the least of what I did.”
“And was it all so you could one day bring down the Vortigurn? Why? So you can replace him?”
Deyna turned her gaze back to the window and Guthnyr saw the hardness leach from her features.
Moving back to the bed, she gathered up her clothes and dressed.
At the door, she paused, “You may be right about my uncle, but I remain unsure. If his answer is no, he’ll try to kill us tomorrow, so be ready. ”