Hod could not find it within himself to care.
Men powered the runes with their blood and their belief. The runes should not power man, and he would not sit by, waiting for the fates to tell him what to do. Arwin had believed in prophecy, but Hod did not want to be the blind god, brother of Baldr the Beloved. He did not want to be son of the king or a keeper of the cave. And he did not want to harm Bayr.
He had promised Ghisla he would return . . . but he had nothing to give her and nowhere for them to flee. And until he did, he would not come back.
He heard the moment he was spotted and tossed the small chest of treasure he’d brought with him down onto the sand. The casing ruptured and the contents spilled, clinking and clattering at his feet. He unsheathed his staff, not bothering with his sword. If they decided to kill him, he would die. If they decided to poke at him, he would do better with his stick.
“I am Hod. The treasure is yours. And there is more where it came from,” he yelled. “You can kill me, but then you won’t find it. You also won’t get out of this cove. But if you let me come with you, I will help you do both.”
PART THREE
19
NORTHMEN
“I do not like coming to Berne,” Alba sighed, peering out the carriage window. “Just once, I would like to go to Dolphys.”
Ghisla said nothing. They did not go to Dolphys because Bayr was the clan’s chieftain. The king always sent an official emissary to Dolphys instead, and when the chieftains gathered on the mount, Bayr sent his grandfather in his place. Bayr had never returned to Temple Hill, and over the years, Alba had slowly ceased talking about him. Ghisla understood. It hurt too much to forever hope and endlessly wait. Six years had gone by since Ghisla had seen or heard from Hod. Bayr had been gone even longer, and Alba had grown up without him. But every now and again, she revealed her inner longing. She had not forgotten Bayr.
“I have even been to Joran and Ebba. Ebba is overrun by the Hounds, and we still go to Ebba. But not”—Alba sighed—“Dolphys.” Alba smoothed her dress nervously. It was something both she and Ghost did, like they smoothed their emotions with their hands. Alba turned from the window and her eyes met Ghisla’s. The black of the royal robe she wore would look like a funeral shroud on many, yet somehow Alba’s white hair shined a little brighter and her brown eyes glowed a little deeper beside the dark velvet.
“But we are here. And the Bernians await.” She settled her crown on her head and grimaced. “And we must smile.”
“I never smile. I sneer.” Ghisla curled her lip and raised one eyebrow in a disdainful dismissal. “I am the least favorite daughter of the temple . . . and I intend to keep my title.”
“You sneer at them, but Juliah carries a sword. She terrifies them. I think she might be the least favorite.”
They both laughed, giggling into their hands. The carriage had stopped, and they could hear the preparations being made for them to alight.
“I miss them,” Ghisla admitted.
“So do I . . . but at least they did not have to come to Berne. You’ll walk beside me, Liis?”
“I will walk behind you as I always do.”
“The people will want to see you too,” Alba said. “The purple of your robe makes your eyes so vivid, you’ll hypnotize them. One look from you and mayhaps the Northmen will leave for good.”
Alba was teasing, but her smile slipped. The Northmen were known as Berserkers, and the villages on the northern coasts of Saylok had felt their wrath. Both Lothgar and Aidan had beaten back the raids, but Benjie had used another strategy—appeasement—and Banruud had allowed and even abetted it.
“I fear it will take more than a look from me,” Ghisla murmured. “Benjie has allowed the North King to take whatever he wants.”
“And yet my father comes to Berne—the king himself—to talk of trade and feast and give the North King even more. One of these days, they won’t leave. They’ll stay. And they won’t remain in Berne.”
Ghisla knew Alba was right; the Northmen always left for a time, but they always came back wanting more. Still, the princess’s grasp of the situation surprised her. Someone in Adyar had been whispering in her ear. King Banruud did not discuss such things with his daughter or the occupants of the temple. What they knew they learned from scattered conversations and their own observations. The keepers attempted to shield the daughters too, though their efforts had ceased to be effective since the king had started demanding the daughters accompany Alba and appear before the clans.
This time, the king had brought only Alba and Ghisla on the visit, insisting it was because he was only traveling to the clans they represented. They had gone to Leok first, then Adyar, and had expected to return to the mount. Instead they had continued on to Berne. The Bernians would be disappointed that Bashti was not with them, though Ghisla doubted they would see many of the clanspeople. She feared this was not that kind of trip.
Alba clearly feared it as well. “Father has even promised the Northmen land in Berne—land that Bernians own—if they will come with their families and stay. Saylok is dying. We need women and children . . . and I suppose this is a way to accomplish that, but . . . I have yet to see any families from the North. I’ve seen only warriors.”
Beyond the windows a huge crowd had formed, and King Banruud was already moving through the gathering on his horse. Benjie of Berne rode toward him, a parade of red-clad warriors behind him. The Northmen, if they were present, would not be mounted. They came to Berne in boats.
“Master Ivo says it is not the women of Saylok who are the problem. It is the men,” Ghisla murmured. To say such a thing in front of the king or the chieftains—in front of any of Saylok’s men—would not be wise. “King Banruud and the chieftains keep negotiating with, and raiding, other lands for their women, but that has not lifted the scourge.”
The carriage door opened abruptly and a member of the king’s guard poked his head through the opening.
He extended a hand to help Alba disembark. She did so, and then the guard turned to Ghisla. Ghisla followed the princess, trying to quell the nervous jangling in her veins. She would be glad when the visit was through.
Hod heard the beat of her heart before the carriage even came to a stop and almost fell to his knees. He did not stand with the Northmen who had assembled to observe the arrival of the king but hugged the edge of the Bernian part of the crowd, wearing a drab cloak with his head covered and his eyes closed.
Arwin had taught him to close his eyes when he trod among other men. “They will remember your eyes, and you don’t want them to remember. You don’t want them to notice you at all. That is where true freedom lies. When you’re invisible, you come and go as you please.”
Arwin had not been right about everything, but he was right about that. Hod was overlooked and ignored in almost every situation, and he played the part of the harmless blind man quite well. It also helped that he wore no ornamentation—no bones or leather or rings in his ears like the other Northmen—and he leaned upon his staff like his back was bent and his body weak. Of course, he wasn’t a Northman at all, though he’d won acceptance over the years.