Lord of the Runes (18 page)

And still the dreams came.

The dragon cried out and lashed its tail closer and closer to her, anger dripping from it like blood. Its massive wings blocked out the scarlet sun. Runes glowed golden in the air she breathed and their essence roared into her, filling her with the knowledge of what they were. She woke, sweating and gasping, exhausted. She'd asked their healer, Ingeborg, for herbs to help her sleep, and she'd taken even more than she should have.

And still the dreams came.

Eirik stood beside the dragon, his hand on its gleaming scales. When he stepped away from it, runic symbols burned where he'd touched it. He walked to her and she raised her head in defiance. She reached for her sword, but it was not at her side. She was defenseless.

He lifted his hand to her face, the hand that had the power to burn runes into a dragon's scales. She flinched. Would his magic sear into her as well? He cupped her cheek. His touch was soft, yet strong. Possessive. Bringing his fingers up beneath her hair, he held her for his kiss. Just as their lips brushed, she woke.

She lay in the darkness of her room, her skin hot. A longing she couldn't name thrummed through her. What would it be like to have a man look at her with admiration? Not for her sword skills, but for her as a woman? A man like Eirik?

Turning onto her side, she closed her eyes. This was all he could ever be to her—a fantasy in the night, a flicker of another life where her past was different, where she was still free and happy. Where Magnus hadn't almost died because of the allure of her beauty. Where her girlish innocence hadn't been shattered in one bloody moment. Where her honor hadn't hung in shameful tatters ever after.

Her throat swelled as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She buried her face in the pillow. Only in a fantasy world could she love a fine, strong man, as any woman could. A world where she could be worthy of him, standing beside him as his equal in all things. A world that didn't exist.

She dried her eyes on the blanket. She had to work with him. The dragon demanded it, wanted its due, needed to drink the magic Eirik had. It would accept no other.

This was madness. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her throat. Eirik was only a man, the dragon only a carving. All these dreams lay in her mind, or perhaps the gods tried to speak to her through them. Whatever they were, maybe if she gave in, she could find peace. Not in the day, when she must see him, and speak with him, and long for him. But perhaps at night when she could forget the past in her sleep.

“I'll do this,” she said aloud. “I'll ask for help in carving the final rune. You'll have what you want, then leave me be.”

But did she speak to the dragon, or to Eirik?

* * *

The World Tree was finished.

Eirik stretched and set down his chisel. All the roots, leaves, and branches flowed in intricate curves around the center of the stone. Some of the branches found their way to the outside edge, wrapping around the back. He'd never done it that way before, but it seemed right.

He smiled. Perhaps Asa's carving was influencing him. And that wasn't the only effect she had on him. He hadn't spent as much time on this rune stone as he should. It was too tempting to seek her out in the longhouse and find some excuse to be with her. Frustration had driven him to go on patrol with Magnus's men. He'd needed the exercise to tire him so he could sleep at night. Knowing she was so near, in her own sleeping room, kept him awake, tense with desire.

In the brief moments he'd glimpsed her during the skirmish, he'd seen that she was a thinking fighter. She would have to be, to stand against men far larger than herself. Her speed and strategy gave her an advantage. She also used the size and strength of those she fought beside to augment her own tactics, and the result had been impressive.

One could learn all that in training. But to put it to use in battle, while slipping on spilled blood amid the screams of the dying, showed a clarity and focus of mind he'd rarely witnessed. Even in himself.

Standing, he arched his back until it cracked. He needed to chisel the runes that would run around the outside of the design, and then he could present it to Thorsfjell in thanks for all they'd done for him. He'd first thought to make it a farewell gift. Now, all that had changed.

He left the storage shed and walked around the side of the stables. The sounds of animals complaining came from within. Magnus had ordered all his people into the village for protection, and they'd brought their livestock with them.

It made for crowded, noisy living, but it was necessary. Until the threat was over, Magnus wouldn't risk any more of his people. If the criminals couldn't find any animals to take for food, they would have no choice but to either leave the area or come nearer to the village, exposing themselves. Magnus would be ready.

Eirik checked the street before he left the side of the stable. So far, no one had caught on to what he was doing, and he wanted to keep it that way. From time to time, through the past weeks, Magnus had expressed his curiosity about where Eirik went during the afternoons. He had managed to come up with excuses, but he was running out of them. It was fortunate that he was nearly finished with the carving.

He drew back. Estrid walked down the road, her hood over her head.

Backing into the shadows, he waited to see where Estrid was going. He usually didn't avoid women, but something about Estrid made the hairs rise on his skin. She walked to a house farther down the empty road and, after looking around, slipped inside. Many of Magnus's warriors who usually lived elsewhere, including Hjellmar, were staying in the house while they hunted the outcasts. Perhaps if she was seeing the disagreeable warrior, it would take her aim off of him.

He made his way to the longhouse. Serving girls passed bowls of stew and mugs of ale around the tables, and he sat down with Arne and several other men. The stew was flavorful, filled with mutton, carrots, parsnips, onions, and peas, and seasoned with dill, wild garlic, and costly imported pepper. Magnus spared no expense to feed his warriors well, but that was the secret to keeping them. Good food and drink and lots of it. Eirik's cousin Rorik had always told him that, and it would appear he was right. The men ate without talking, intent on their meal. He'd had enough of being alone all day, so after he finished, he looked at the other tables to see where a good conversation might be found. Hjellmar was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Estrid.
Good.

The men at the table where Leif was sitting burst into laughter. As usual. Eirik picked up his mug, intending to join them and hear the newest tall tale Leif was telling, but a hand on his arm stopped him. His skin tightened. Estrid.

But it was Asa. It was rare that she sought him out and, relaxing, he smiled.

She didn't return it. “I need to speak with you. Come with me.”

He followed her into the weaving room. She went to the covered carving and stood behind it, as though it would shield her from him. When the time came, nothing, not even a dragon, would keep him from her.

“The final rune needs to be cut,” she said. “And I must ask for your help.”

His heart became lighter. “Of course. I'll meet you here later, when all the others have gone to sleep.”

“Later? I thought we could do this now.”

When they would not be quite alone because of the crowd in the next room. “Later. I have a reason for that.”

She studied him, suspicion in her dark eyes. “Why?”

“Come here then and find out.” He gave her a shadow of a smile and left. Let her wonder. This night would tell him many things, on many levels. Would she meet with him?

He sat down at Leif's table and enjoyed the tales that grew taller as the evening wore on. He told a few, himself. And when the others had sought either their beds, the benches attached to the walls, or the floor, to pass out on, he went into the weaving room to wait.

Asa hadn't remained in the common room after the meal, so perhaps she wouldn't come at all. He drew the cloth off of the dragon's head and set it aside. Then he lit several lamps and built up the fire in the small central hearth. When he straightened to return to the carving, Asa stood in the doorway, biting her lip. It made her mouth even more red and inviting, but she couldn't know that.

He smiled. “Come and sit on your bench.” He carried a chair over and set it on the left side, where they would carve the rune.

She frowned as she sat. “You were behind me before, so you could hold your hand over mine and call the power through it. Why is this different?”

He settled himself in the chair and leaned back. “Because this time you're going to call the power and carve the rune yourself. That's why I wanted to do this without the noise from the other room. So you could concentrate.”

She stared at him. “I don't know anything about this, Eirik. The magic answers to you, not me.”

“The power of the dragon answers to you. And how do you know you can't understand the runes? They speak. You have only to listen.”

“I carved the others on the right side, but you said the magic was already there.” She paused, her eyes downcast. “Something did happen. I felt strange and I saw the rune in my mind.” She raised her eyes to his. “After that, I tried to carve this one the same way. Nothing happened.”

“Didn't want to ask me?” He held up a hand as she started to speak. “I know this is new to you. In many ways. You couldn't call the power of this rune because you didn't know its meaning. But I'm going to tell you. Then you'll understand it and that will make the difference. It's only when you have the knowledge, that it becomes clear.”

He touched the symbol. “This is Eihwaz. It holds the ability to harness the power of life and death. It represents the yew tree, which is poisonous, yet is the longest-lived tree we know and is always green. Even after it dies, its daughters will often grow inside its trunk, giving it immortality.”

Taking her hand, he placed it on the sketch. She looked up and he met her questioning gaze. “Eihwaz is yours. It is death and life, in the same way you are a warrior who takes life and you're also a woman who has the gift to give it. It is the yew tree, and you are a wood carver. You create new things out of wood that is dead, giving it a renewed purpose. Within you lie both these attributes. They join in you to make you what you are, as they join within Eihwaz.”

He withdrew his hand when she turned back to the carving. “I've had dreams,” she said, “of you and the dragon and the runes. I knew they wouldn't leave me alone, wouldn't let me sleep, until I did this. But to do it alone . . .”

“Never alone.” He brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I'll be here. I'll speak the words. I want you to open yourself to the energy, the magic. Feel it. See it. Then carve the rune.”

Nodding, she picked up her knife. Its blade glinted like a flame in the soft firelight as she held it beside the wood. He sat back, reaching out to all the forces that gathered near the dragon. The energy around them built, tingling along his skin.

After drawing a deep breath, she touched the knife to the drawing of the rune. He hid a secret smile as she drew the blade down the upper diagonal to the right.

He whispered the ancient words so she could hear him. “Poison flows beneath, yet does not daunt the spirit. Its beauty outlasts even the coldest winter, finding rebirth in a new chance at life.”

Her knife almost slipped as she set it to the top of the vertical stroke. She took another breath, gripped the handle tighter, and steadied herself. Her cut was smooth and straight.

What could have unnerved her? Was it the words he spoke? She was carving the rune correctly. He could not have done better himself. Her eyes were distant, even as she made her cuts, as though she saw into other places. Truly, the power had entered her, spoken to her, guided her hand.

The runes accepted her, even as they had accepted him so long ago.

She was forged from the same metal as he. They were both warriors. She was as strong and splendid as any shieldmaiden he had ever known. And yet, she would understand the magic he heard in the night, along with the power it brought to those willing to grasp it. She could hold it with him, and together . . .

Together they could make strong, proud sons and beautiful, fierce daughters. She'd fight at his side in the day, while at night, they'd build new lives together and a future that would span the ages.

He looked at Eihwaz as she began the final diagonal cut, down and to the right so that it met the vertical spine. It was, indeed, her rune. Now, if only she would accept it—and him. That would likely take some time, for there was still something hidden behind her eyes that spoke of fear and shadows, when she looked at him,

She lowered the knife but didn't speak. The magic still gripped her as it swirled around them.

“Asa.” He placed his hand on her chin and turned her face to him. Her eyes were soft, the pupils large. It was as though she had to look through other places to see him, other places where he had walked. “Asa, come back to me.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb, then combed his fingers under her hair to hold her, and touched her mouth with his. Drawing back, he watched her.

She focused on him, once again in this world. He enveloped her in his arms, kissing her again, a true kiss this time. Setting her hands on his thighs, she leaned closer to him. Her lips were sweet and warm. It was all he could do to keep from opening her mouth to his, to stop himself from taking the softness of her breast in his hand. She was still untried, still new to this.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled back, almost groaning with desire. She put her finger to her lips. He almost hauled her back to him at the seductive gesture. But he fought down the impulse. This needed to be right.