He wrapped his hands around hers and drew them to his lips, trying to control the quaking in his chest.
“If you fall . . . I will follow. Do you understand me?” she cried, fierce even as her tears fell unchecked.
“I understand you,” he whispered.
He rose and pulled her from his bed, kissing her mouth and her eyes and wiping her tears. She pushed him away like she could not bear the agony of parting one more time, and when the coast was clear, she fled his room as quickly as she’d come.
“Do not fall, Hod,” she whispered as she ran. “Do not fall.”
He did not fear a fall. He could endure that. He could endure the end. But he could not fail.
27
ATTACKS
The feast was raucous and rowdy, the North King taunting the chieftains and refilling his goblet with abandon. Banruud made no effort to subdue him, though he dismissed Alba before the first course was finished. Hod listened to her go, his stomach in greasy coils. He was not alone in his tension, for when the meal was done and Gudrun stretched out, snoring by the fire like the castle was already his, Lothgar of Leok and the Chieftain of Adyar pushed their chairs back from the table and demanded an audience with the king. When Bayr added his voice to Aidan and Lothgar’s and Chief Josef concurred, the king sighed and rose.
“So be it.”
“Benjie and Elbor should be p-present as well,” Bayr demanded.
“By all means,” Banruud mocked. “It will be your first council, Temple Boy. We welcome you.”
Banruud snapped his fingers, instructing Hod and half his guard to accompany him. He bade the other half remain behind with the sleeping North King and his unruly cadre.
The chieftains, rattled by the king’s sentry, signaled for their own men to follow, and every man eyed the others with open distrust, clan colors and weapons on full display. Aidan pounced as soon as the council chamber doors were closed and the chieftains were seated.
“You bring the Northmen to the mount, you parade the daughters of the temple in front of their bloody king, and you have not consulted about it with any of us.”
Banruud was slow to answer the Chieftain of Adyar.
“I am the king. I do not take instruction from Adyar, or Leok, or Dolphys, or Joran. I will hear your complaints. But I will do as I wish, just as other kings have done before me. Just as other kings will do when I am gone.”
“Do you take instruction from Berne?” Bayr interjected.
Benjie scoffed, but the other chieftains were silent, waiting for Bayr to continue.
“Between Ebba and Berne, we have s-suffered twenty-seven attacks over these last few years. Benjie d-denies it, Elbor throws up his hands. But our villages have been attacked. Our farms. Our fishermen. We repel attacks on our shores only to be attacked on our f-flanks by these clans.” Bayr had to pause several times and speak more slowly than the king had patience for, and Hod found himself gritting his teeth, willing the room to hold, to listen, to respect the stuttering chieftain.
“Benjie cannot be blamed for rogue bands of marauders,” Banruud said, disdain dripping from the words.
“He can,” Bayr argued.
The king snapped his teeth at the chieftain’s insolence, but Bayr continued, undeterred.
“Benjie encourages it. He is . . . em-emboldened . . . by his . . . relationship to you, S-sire, and has no r-respect for other c-clans or other chieftains.”
“Do you stutter because you are frightened, Temple Boy?” Banruud mocked.
Dakin and Dred grunted at the insult to their chieftain, and the king’s guard drew their swords, a rippling of steel that stiffened Hod’s back.
“He is the Dolphys. Not the Temple Boy, Banruud,” Dred growled.
“And I am the king, Dred. And you will address me as such, or you will lose your tongue.”
“I care n-not what you call me, Majesty. But you will not be k-king of Saylok if the c-clans destroy each other.”
“You threaten me?” Banruud growled.
“If the clans fall, the k-kingdom falls.”
“And who will be king when I am not, hmm? You? The next king will be from Dolphys, and you believe the keepers will choose you. Is that why you’ve finally taken your place at the council table, Temple Boy? You wish to kill me and let the keepers make you king?”
The room became tomb-like with the accusation, and Bayr did not seek to break the silence. Hod thought that wise; to protest was to give credence to the king’s claim.
“You are naught but a hulking ox, Bayr of Dolphys. An ox has great strength, but we do not make an ox our king,” Benjie mocked.
Again, Bayr did not react, but Hod could hear Dred’s outrage. It rumbled deep in his throat like a hungry wolf.
“I have no w-wish to be king,” Bayr stated firmly.
“A king must command his people, and you can barely speak. The tribes of our enemies would breach the temple mount before you could call out the order for attack,” Elbor snickered.
“Better a hulking ox than a blathering idiot,” Josef of Joran murmured.
“Better a good man than a glib man,” Aidan of Adyar purred.
“Better a tangled tongue than a forked one,” Dred growled.
Hod knew every man in the room had his hand on his sword, and for a moment no one breathed, as though wondering who would be the first to lunge. The king’s chair scraped against the floor; the vibration skittered up Hod’s legs. He rose, for his voice came from several feet higher than moments before.
“What do you want me to do?” Banruud asked. “I am a king, not a keeper. I am but a man. I am not a master of runes. We support the temple on the mount, the people worship the keepers, and yet they cannot answer our prayers. My daughter is the last girl child to be born to a son of Saylok. In twenty-four years, she is the only one.” Banruud paused, letting the reminder sink in around him. It was almost as if he believed his own lie.
“Yet you come to me as though I can heal your seed,” Banruud continued. “Why do you not ask the keepers what they have done to end the scourge? Do they not guard the holy runes? Do they not commune with the fates? Do they not have Odin’s ear?”
Banruud waited again, fervor ringing in his voice, and when no one disagreed with him, he continued.
“Five daughters have grown to womanhood in the temple walls, yet they have not been returned to you, to their clans. Their wombs are empty. What hope have they given you, Chieftains of Saylok? What hope have they given your people? Our sons turn on each other. And you come to me with your hands extended, asking me to cure this ill. Why do you not ask the keepers?”
The men behind Elbor all began to grunt in raucous agreement, the sound like a herd of starving pigs.
The chuff and growl of the warriors of Berne, the Clan of the Bear, became a competing swell, and Hod resisted the urge to cover his ears. Lothgar of Leok threw back his head and roared just to compete, the sound reverberating like the lion he claimed to descend from.
“There . . . is . . . no . . . order,” Bayr said, each word succinct, and the cacophony ceased.
“It is not the keepers who rape and pillage. It is not the keepers who send their warriors to plunder the lands of their neighbors,” Dred added, his fury billowing over his grandson’s head.
“We take what we must to survive,” Benjie barked.