Chapter Seventeen Elvine #4
“You knew Tuhlvyr Vahlak?” Elvine asked.
“For many a year. We were raised together, more or less. All us young ones from high-rank families who showed promise in battle from an early age. The Vortigurn ordered we be gathered together and trained morning and night. Our tutors were not kind and those that didn’t measure up were cast out.
By the advent of manhood there were barely enough of us to fill a single ship.
The Vortigurn’s Fist, they named us. To my knowledge, I’m all that’s left.
” He paused, his gaze becoming distant as it slipped back to the fire.
“I was at Vahlak’s side when we crushed the Red Sands revolt.
I took an arrow for him at the keep of the mad Aerling, and stood with him alone on the frozen lake when the Morvek horde came to take our heads.
They failed. All of them.” His eyes flashed at her. “But not you Spear Maiden.”
Elvine exchanged a brief glance with Colvyn.
It had been her brother who dealt the killing blow to Vahlak, a swift sword thrust through the back, delivered in the belief that the Tuhlvyr was about to murder Elvine.
Unusually, all vestige of humour had fled her brother’s face, his expression one of hard, deadly purpose.
Clearly, he recognised considerable threat in this Varnyr of the Vortigurn’s Fist.
“Was it a good death?” the Nihlvarian asked her, looking up from the flames.
“There are no good deaths,” Elvine told him. “But it was quick.”
“He had singular regard for you, as I recall.” A grin played over Varnyr’s lips. “Never seen him truly smitten before, but that day we dropped anchor at Skar Magnol, I saw it then. Strange that he should fall to a woman who may well have captured his heart.”
Seeing Colvyn open his mouth to speak, Elvine caught his eye and shook her head. Relating the true circumstances of Vahlak’s death would likely provoke an unpredictable reaction from this man, and she needed him to talk, not fight.
“Vahlak ordered you to stay as his sister’s side,” she said. “Yet you sailed aboard a different ship. Why?”
“Why won’t you just kill me?” Shaking his head, the warrior returned his gaze to the fire. “Am I to be denied even the blessing of release to the Halls of Aevnir.”
“Are you so sure they’d take you?” Colvyn enquired, unable to resist a taunt. “How many villagers did you leave hacked and mutilated in the Outer Isles? Hardly the actions of a man likely to gain the Altvar’s favour.”
Varnyr turned to regard Colvyn for a second. “This man claims knowledge he cannot possess, not least the minds of the gods.”
“My brother knows many things,” Elvine said, shooting Colvyn a warning glare. “But not how to still his tongue.”
Varnyr turned back to her, flexing his hands in a manner that reminded her of the proximity of his swords. “Brother, eh? So, if I were to reach for my blades, he would surely cut me down.”
“He would,” Colvyn growled.
The Nihlvarian kept his gaze on Elvine. “Then before he does, let it be known that I spilled no blood in this realm. Not that of a villager nor a warrior. My oath to Vahlak kept me at the queen’s side, denying me the death in battle I deserved.”
“Is that why she banished you to an unseaworthy ship?” Elvine asked. “Because she couldn’t bear your resentment?”
“No. She banished me because I could no longer bear the sight of her. This voyage was madness. We should have sailed for Nihlvar when the tide of war turned against us. But she forbade it, and that wild-eyed wretch Ilvar had his menda cut the throats of any who protested. Warriors I had fought and sailed alongside for years, cut down on a madwoman’s whim.
I cast my weapons at her feet and demanded death as the only means by which I could be released from my oath.
She would not grant it. A sop to the love her brother held for me, she said.
But I saw the cruelty in her eyes. So was I banished to the Sea Spite, where she knew I would soon meet my ignoble end. ”
Varnyr leaned forward, making Colvyn tense and half draw his sword. “But you can grant me release, Spear Maiden,” the Nihlvarian said. “To die in combat with you will be a worthy end for Varnyr’s tale…”
He moved while the words were still issuing from his lips, faster than seemed possible.
He ducked low to avoid the immediate slash of Colvyn’s sword, grasping the twin blades and lunging at Elvine across the fire.
She didn’t move. Even as the swords closed within a hair’s width of her throat, she remained still and composed.
“Don’t!” she snapped at Colvyn, halting him in the act of aiming a thrust at the Nihlvarian’s back.
Poised a few inches from her face, Varnyr seethed, jaw and teeth clenched in frustration. “Fight me!” he demanded. “You slew many. Now grant me the same.”
Sensing a commanding thrum from the spear, Elvine hefted it, feeling a pang of regret at the spasm of relief on Varnyr’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said, and gently placed the flat of the weapon’s iron head upon his chest, and Varnyr screamed.