Dolor and Shadow (59 page)

  Glancing away from the side oar, Kallan raised her face just in time to see Bergen unfasten his belt. Heat climbed her neck as she lowered her head and closed her eyes. Anger grated against the resounding laugh that eructed from Ottar.

  “Something wrong, Princess?” Ottar jeered with rich vulgarity. “Did they neglect to teach you an appreciation for men?”  He released another bout of laughter and Kallan balled her fists.

  “Ottar,” Rune said against the trestle. “That’s enough.”

  The big brute swallowed mid-guffaw and, with resumed silence, governed the side oar.    Confounded, Rune gazed at Kallan’s grimace as the heavy clomp of Bergen’s boots returned.

In a torrent of billowed skirts, Kallan rose to her feet and, slamming her shoulder into Bergen’s, plodded to the front of the ship, paying no mind to the catcalls and jeers as she went.

  “What did you do?” Bergen asked, watching the wind whip Kallan’s hair into the folds of her skirts as she came to stand near the ship’s bow.

  “I’m not sure.”  Rune stared, his brow still furrowed.

  Stupidly, Bergen’s face stretched into a wide grin.

  “You know how to pick them, don’t you,” Bergen said, shuffling his seat to the furs beside Rune. Exhaling, he dropped to the floor and leaned into the trestle.

   “Why not let her go, Brother?” Bergen said, leaning in and dropping the amusement from his tone. “She doesn’t want to be here anymore than she’s wanted here. You could send an arrow to her back or I could pluck her off tonight while she sleeps.”

  “She won’t sleep,” Rune said as he watched Kallan hug herself against the chill. “And she has to come with us.”

  “Well, of course, she has to come with us.”  Bergen scoffed dismissively. “But why take a bothersome prisoner to kill on ceremony when we can just kill her here?  It’ll boost the men’s spirits.”

  Rune kept his eyes fixed on the fore, watching, guarding, to ensure none of his men stepped out of line.

  “There are greater enemies out there with greater happenings than any of us are aware of,” Rune said. “And unless we combine our efforts…”  Rune tore his gaze from Kallan. “…we will never see the end of this conflict.”

  Bergen leaned closer, eager for the moment to speak privately.

  “I know you,” he said with a darkened look to his eye. “You don’t go gallivanting after wenches.”  Bergen added a subtle nod toward the front the ship where Kallan stood. “What goes on, Brother?”

  Rune shook his head.

  “I don’t know. Not yet.”

  “The least you could have done is let her sail with Gunnar,” Bergen said. “He hates everyone equally…unless they’re a horse.”

  Without a second look to his brother, Rune made his way to the bow, stepping over men who slept and sulked, stretched out on the deck.

  Grabbing the mainstay to keep his balance against the jostling ship, Rune came to stand beside Kallan who stared into the cold winds, grateful for the whistling that drowned out most of the comments behind her. She stared ahead, refusing to acknowledge his presence, the wind drying the bite of her tears from her eyes.

  The boat’s stern cut into the river’s surface as it pushed on through the waters. The spray of the sea added to the chill, but she didn’t budge against the ruthless winds of the Nordic air.

  “I am responsible for their behavior,” Rune said. “They mean no harm, really.” 

  He shifted his gaze to Kallan and followed the pale curve of her cheek, to her ear and down the lines of her neck. The only movement was of her hair whipping wildly about by the wind. With a sigh, Rune looked back to the river.

  “Men aren’t as temperate as women,” he said. “We like our comforts and get crass when we lose them.” 

  He waited for her to answer. When she didn’t, he looked back to Kallan who stared, still idle, still unmoving, distant and dead to the world around her. His jaw tightened as she withdrew, back into the black chasms of her mind where she harbored the remnants of her iron wall.   Without a word, Rune trudged back to the stern and dropped himself back onto the pile of furs, ignoring the banter of laughs exchanged between Bergen and Ottar.

  At the bow, Kallan stood, giving no sign that she lived or was aware of her surroundings as she sank back into the vacant depths of her mind.