Snow-Walker

Thirty

Our sole remedy is to turn again to you.

Wulfgar drank deeply, and put the cup down. “Her words are poison. I’ll remember them, but not worry too much. This time we’ve defeated her. As for Vidar, he seems to think a little differently about you now.”

Kari nodded, and Brochael gave Jessa a broad smile, stretching out his legs to the banked-up fire.

The hall was securely barred; for a moment they sat in silence again, among the crack and crackle of the flames.

Then Jessa said, “What will happen to him?”

“I’ll let him try the dungeons for a day or so. Then”—Wulfgar shrugged and winced—“then the men of the hold will judge him in open court. You’ll have to speak, Jessa.”

“Oh, I’ll speak!” She turned her cup in her hands. “I’ll have plenty to say about this thief friend too. A purse of silver, Wulfgar. Vidar promised that if his man was involved, remember?”

“I think,” the Jarl said evenly, “we might get that much from him.”

Brochael put his arms heavily around Skapti and Hakon. “And what about this one? Can we do nothing for him?”

Hakon let the strong grip hearten him. He looked sidelong at Jessa; she was watching Wulfgar.

The Jarl nodded. “Jessa and I have spoken about it. Hakon, how much was your family’s debt to Skuli?”

“Sixty silver pieces.”

“Gods, that’s not much for a life of thralldom,” Brochael growled.

“It’s enough, if you haven’t got it.”

“I’ve got it,” Wulfgar said, “and I’ll pay it.”

“My lord—”

“Hakon Empty-hand,” Wulfgar said lazily, “Don’t call me ‘my lord.’ You and Jessa saved us all. Sixty pieces is a very small reward....”

“Not to me.”

“So I’ll want something from you in return. Your service. Not as a thrall,” he added hastily, seeing Hakon’s face, “but as one of my men.”

Hakon stared. Then he rubbed his nose. He knew he was grinning like a fool; Brochael was openly laughing at him. He just couldn’t believe this.

“With one empty hand?”

Wulfgar gave his lazy shrug. “The hands of other men are empty, though they may not seem so.” His eyes darkened for a moment at the memory.

“But it was Kari who saved us,” Hakon said uneasily. “He destroyed the beast.”

“Not destroyed,” Kari said, looking up. “And there were two beasts. The second one we destroyed between us. That one was invisible, and the more dangerous.”

Wulfgar nodded. “I was to blame. I let Vidar persuade me. I’m sorry. I won’t doubt you again.”

Kari almost smiled. “Don’t be so sure. Perhaps you should. A little.” Suddenly he held out his hand to Hakon. “And will you forgive me for what Gudrun did to you?”

For a moment Hakon couldn’t move. The memory of the long years of anguish, the strange terror of that vision of the ice field almost engulfed him. Then he lifted his hand and clasped Kari’s.

The Snow-walker’s grip was narrow and cool; it tingled his flesh. Hakon saw the others grinning at him, Jessa was laughing with her fingers over her lips, and he couldn’t see why until he looked down at his hand and saw that it was the right one that he had offered Kari. His right hand!

He pulled it away, flexed the weak fingers, stared at the runemaster in fear and dismay and a growing, unbearable delight.

“What have you done?” he whispered.

Kari shook his head. “The opposite,” he said.

And as they laughed, the wind called outside, like a cold voice, and Jessa noticed how Kari listened to it quietly.