“I will not speak for him, Dred . . . but I will not challenge him either,” Dakin added softly.
“Nor will I.” A warrior with deep-set eyes and cheekbones as sharp as the temple spires spoke up from the rear. “He can make his claim uncontested. I’ll not stand in his way.” Bayr had seen him on the field of the melee and again on the night of the feast. The man was almost as quiet as Bayr, but he seemed to hold Dred in high regard.
“Dakin. Dystel. My gratitude,” Dred murmured gruffly, and Bayr made note of the second man’s name.
“And the rest of you? What say you? Will you challenge him now that I have withdrawn my claim?” Dred asked the men who traveled in surly silence beside him.
“I’d never be chosen,” Daniel said simply, shrugging. “It matters not to me if the Temple Boy wants to kill himself trying to become the Dolphys.” The people of Saylok often referred to a chieftain by the name of his clan—the Adyar, the Leok, the Joran. The people of Dolphys were no different.
Dystel lashed out and pushed the boy so hard he almost fell from his mount. The others laughed, Daniel swore, and the warriors, all ranging in size and age, gave their consent.
“If Dakin and Dystel don’t contest, none of us will either. They have the most claim, Dred.” The man who spoke was completely bald like a keeper. He wore a wolf pelt for a hat, the teeth and snout sitting on his forehead as though his face was about to be eaten whole. The bushy tail had been cut into strips and plaited to give him a warrior’s braid.
“So be it,” Dred agreed, his eyes resting briefly on each man. “Then let us see what the people have to say.”
They rode for almost two days, resting for brief stretches by rivers and streams. Water was plentiful in Dolphys, rocks too, but farmland was scarce. Dolphynians grew crops that didn’t need much land—potatoes were a staple. Some farmed, some hunted; some fought, some fished. There were traders and trappers and miners and millers, and in the biggest valley, where the chieftain’s keep and the holdings of the clan were concentrated, there was a little of everything.
To Bayr, life in Dolphys didn’t appear much different from life in the King’s Village, a life common in any of the other clans, though the land of Dolphys was formed of peaks and vales, rocks and crags, and Bayr imagined that if he climbed Shinway Peak, her highest point, he might be able to see all the way to the temple mount, ringed with clouds in the far distance.
When he asked his grandfather, Dred shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve never looked. You’d best not look back either, Bayr.”
When they began to drop into the valley, tired and saddle sore, Dred held back and urged the other men to ride ahead and warn the village.
“You will tell them we’re coming,” he informed Dakin. “You will tell all in the fortress what has transpired. You will tell them I have brought my grandson back to Dolphys to make a bid for the chiefdom.”
Dakin nodded, his eyes lingering on Bayr. “It is better not to wait, boy. You are weary. But they won’t let you rest. May Thor lend you his strength and Odin’s hounds guard your back.”
Dakin tugged at his long red braid in a show of respect and spurred his horse forward. The other men followed, ready for their journey to be over, eager to spread the news.
Dred watched them go before he turned to Bayr. The lines across his brow and bracketing his grim mouth had grown more pronounced as he’d neared his home. Bayr had tried not to feel anything at all. The land was harsh, the men he traveled with even more so, and though the landscape had drawn his eye, it felt foreign and cold. He felt foreign and cold. The only warmth in him was the rage in his belly—disgust at his weakness, fury at his circumstance, frustration at the choices he’d not been given.
“Being the chieftain of a people you’ve never lived among won’t be easy, but I promise you it will be easier than what is about to transpire. You will have to impress them, Bayr. They’ve all heard of the Temple Boy. Dakin said you’re a stranger, but you’re not. You’re a fireside tale. And that might make it even harder. They won’t care that you are fourteen years old—barely a man. They’ll expect greatness. They’ll expect Thor. And you must give it to them.”
Bayr gritted his teeth against the impotence that welled behind his eyes and raged to break free. He had not asked to be chieftain. He did not want to be chieftain. Yet he was going to try. He was going to kneel and grab his braid. He would make a vow. He would bleed and suffer and do what they asked. None of it was what he wanted. But he would do it, nonetheless.
“They’ll not like your name,” Dred continued. “It is of Berne, not Dolphys. I’ll not take it from you. Your mother gave it to you. But they might try to change it. I’ll let you decide if it’s worth the battle.”
Bayr scrubbed at his face, willing calm, fighting despair.
“Are you ready?” Dred asked.
Bayr shook his head. How could he answer such a question?
Dred reached over and touched his shoulder, encouraging him to raise his head, but he couldn’t.
“This is not a world where a man or woman gets much choice in their happiness. We are born into war and each day is a battle.” Dred paused and tightened his hand on Bayr’s shoulder. “My son knew what he wanted. My daughter too. But I didn’t listen. I was too afraid I couldn’t give it to them.” Dred’s voice had grown thin with heavy regret, and he shook his head as though he had no idea how to continue. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh.
“What is it you want, Bayr? If you want to go . . . I’ll go with you. Wherever it is. I’ve spent all my life wanting something I couldn’t ever put a name to. I thought it was power, but I realize now . . . it was posterity. I thought I wanted to be chieftain. Then suddenly Odin opened his hand and there you were, right in front of me.”
“I want to protect,” Bayr answered without thought or hesitation. It had always been the single-minded purpose of his young life. “I w-want to protect Saylok and the temple. I w-want to protect the princess and the d-daughters of the clans. I want to protect D-Dagmar and the k-keepers.”
“You want to protect those you love.”
Bayr nodded, a short, hard jerk of his head. He wanted to protect those he loved and instead he’d been taken—sent—from them.
Dred was silent for a moment, studying him, and his eyes were soft in his hard face.
“If you stay here . . . you will grow to love Dolphys. She is harsh and hard to hold on to, but once she gets in your heart, she won’t let go. And her people are the same. You will learn to love these people, and you will protect them too.”
Bayr’s anger began to evaporate in the midmorning sunlight, and he looked again on the valley of Dolphys and saw her with new eyes. He didn’t want to lead. But mayhaps he could serve. Mayhaps it was the same thing.
“I know you didn’t choose this, Bayr. But I will help you. I will be your right hand and your left. I’ll watch your back and I’ll guard your heart. I’ll give you every last breath I can give. All of me. Everything I know. Everything I am. It is yours.”
“Everything?” Bayr whispered, releasing his doubt and girding his faith.