“Surely . . . surely the runes . . .” Ghost pled, desperate against Ivo’s despondence. Dagmar stood silent and grim beside her.
“The runes are only as powerful—and as righteous—as the blood of the men and women who wield them. And we have tried every rune, beseeched every god, and bled into the soil of every clan,” Ivo said. “The keepers have failed. I have failed. And Saylok will fall.”
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. Bayr watched her go, his teeth clenched in helpless fury. He was not alone in his frustration, for when the meal was done and Gudrun lay stretched out in front of the hearth on the black bearskin of the king’s clan, Lothgar rose, Aidan beside him, and demanded an audience with their king.
Banruud, his blade drawn to pick at his teeth, sat back as though he considered refusing the big Chieftain of Leok. When Bayr joined Aidan and Lothgar, and Chief Josef followed, the king sighed and sheathed his knife.
“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 and instructed half his guard—a guard mostly made up of the clanless, well paid and wanting in every area except savagery—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 door was 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 studied the hostile room with slow nonchalance before answering 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.
The king lifted one dark eyebrow, and Benjie huffed, but the other chieftains waited for Bayr to continue.
“We have s-suffered attacks from Berne. Benjie d-denies it. But our villages have been attacked. We repel attacks on our shores only to be attacked on our f-flanks by his clan.” Bayr had rehearsed the lines so he would not stumble overmuch, but he had to pause several times and speak more slowly than the king had patience for.
“Benjie cannot be blamed for rogue bands of marauders.” Banruud sighed.
“He can.”
The king sneered at Bayr’s response.
“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?”
Dakin and Dred hissed, hands gripping their blades, drawing close to Bayr’s chair. The king’s guard drew their swords, a rippling of steel that stiffened the backs of every man at the king’s table.
“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.”
Bayr turned slightly and lifted a hand, settling it on his grandfather’s arm, and Dred glowered at the king and did not retreat. Dakin remained at Dred’s side, his eyes level and his body tight, and Bayr tried again.
“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?”
“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. To protest was to give credence to the king’s claim.
“You are naught but a hulking ox. An ox has great strength, but we do not make an ox our king,” Benjie mocked.
Bayr did not react, but he could feel his grandfather’s rage behind him.
“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, shooting a withering look at Chief Elbor. Elbor’s chin began to tremble in affront.
“Better a good man than a glib man,” Aidan of Adyar purred.
“Better a tangled tongue than a forked one,” Dred growled.
Every man in the room had his hand on his sword, and for a moment no one breathed, wondering who would be the first to lunge. The king stood slowly, his eyes filled with challenge.
“What do you want me to do?” Banruud turned his palms out slowly, as if to show how empty they were, how void of blame. “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.
“Yet you come to me as though I can heal your seed,” he hissed. “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, and when no one disagreed, he continued.
“Five daughters have grown to womanhood in the temple walls, yet they have not been returned to you, to their clans,” Banruud cried, fervor ringing in his voice. “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?”
Elbor began to nod, the color in his ruddy jowls becoming deeper as he pounded his fists on the table. The men at his back, all draped in Ebba orange, 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 Bayr resisted the urge to cover his ears. Lothgar of Leok, his mane of gold hair faded to white in the ten years since Bayr had seen him last, threw back his head and roared just to compete, the sound reverberating like that of the lion he claimed to descend from.
“There is no order,” Bayr said, his voice firm, 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 hissed.
“We take what we must to survive,” Benjie shouted.