The Blade from the Barrow by Timothy J. R. Rains

Author:Timothy J. R. Rains [Timothy J. R. Rains]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Timothy J. R. Rains
Published: 2022-11-27T00:00:00+00:00

twenty-four

HERVOR

Queen Sifka stares down at us with a face of iron, no longer the grinning, playful woman from the night before. She’s sitting on a silver throne studded with massive pearls. The high back towers over us, rising to three sharp points on which three human skulls are impaled. The skulls have turned brown with time and likely belonged to Finnish Chieftains. Beneath Sifka’s slender fingers, two more skulls gawk out at us from the armrests. Hundreds more encircle the base of the throne, a brutal testament of power and victory over their northern foes.

My heart thumps as it occurs to me that my great-grandfather once sat on this throne. It should be me up there. Perhaps one day it will, once Tyrfing is mine.

Sifka’s sons are sitting with her on smaller thrones of wood and bone, two on either side, all looking down at us. The oldest is perhaps twenty-five, and he stands up as the huskarls leave us in the middle of the hall. He’s slim, dark-haired and very handsome, and I feel a warm tingle as I recall the fortune teller’s reading.

“Chief Torvald,” he says in practiced Nordic, “welcome again to Holmgard. You have travelled far and through great peril to once more stock our markets with slaves and wealth. We commend you for your bravery and for the bravery of your men.”

“Thank you, Prince Rollaug,” says Torvald, “Your mother has always made us welcome in her realm. It has always been with great excitement that we arrive, and deep sorrow that we depart.”

Sifka nods slightly, and smiling, Prince Rollaug looks to me. “Princess Hervor,” he says, “I am Rollaug, first prince of Gardariki. This is my mother, Queen Sifka, and my brothers, from oldest to youngest: Kamen, Olen, and Rokar.”

I nod in greeting, but the three younger princes make no sign of welcome.

“We understand this is your first time in Gardariki,” Prince Rollaug continues, “We hope that you have been enjoying your time in our land.”

“I was, until your huskarls arrested us and marched us halfway across the city in the heat of the day.”

“Hervor,” whispers Torvald.

On the other side of his mother, Prince Olen leans forward in his seat. He has a fat face and only the faintest shadow of a moustache. “Woman,” he says—and his accent is so thick I can barely understand him, “You better watch your mouth in our presence.”

Sifka’s eyes shift to her son, but her stern face betrays no emotion. Rollaug holds up his hand to silence his younger brother, still smiling gently.

“We are sorry,” he says, “that your invitation was so ill-received. Holmgard is a vast city and its streets can at times be confusing, we did not wish for you to get lost along the way. We thought an escort would be an appropriate gesture to demonstrate your value to us. Perhaps we were in the wrong and caused you some alarm.”

I mean to ask him why we were made to surrender our arms then, but Prince Rollaug claps his hands and calls for refreshments.

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