A Mighty Dawn Read online

  ‘Killed the thing stone dead!’ cried Hadding, and the kinsmen bellowed with laughter.

  ‘Best meat I ever tasted,’ roared Haldan, sinking another horn of honey-wine.

  ‘Aye – and the poor fool didn’t live another year,’ said Hadding. ‘Left his woman all alone.’

  Hakan felt a bony elbow in his ribs. ‘And she was the best meat I ever tasted,’ hissed Garik, through broken teeth. Hakan’s instructor was lucky, in battle and out of it. He’d taught Hakan everything he knew about combat, ever since Hakan could hold a stick. But he’d never bothered with a wife. Instead he had a reputation for consoling lonely widows whose husbands had gone to the dust. After the summer raiding most years, that kept him busy enough.

  ‘Reckon we have to see you blooded this summer.’ Garik gave Hakan a thunderous slap on his back. ‘One way or t’other.’ He reached out and grabbed a passing thrall-wench, and hauled her into his lap. ‘You’ve got a soft eye for our young hero, haven’t you?’

  The girl was one of the fleshy pieces that his father had bought the previous spring, sold on from the faraway lands of Gaudarika, beyond the great rivers across the East Sea. She had darker hair than the women of the north, a broad squat nose, and full lips.

  ‘More than I do for you!’ she giggled, slopping ale in his breeches.

  ‘Yah!’ Garik shoved her away. ‘Silly bitch!’

  ‘Serves you right. Why can’t you be a good boy like him?’

  The girl leaned over and refilled Hakan’s cup till it was frothing over. As she did, she bent close and whispered, ‘Wouldn’t I like to show you how to be bad though, eh?’ Hakan felt her tongue curl up the edge of his ear. He jerked away. Suddenly, all he could see were dark eyes, plump lips and a heaving bosom. Truth was the whole hall seemed to be heaving like a ship in a storm. He shoved her away, mumbling, ‘Some other time.’

  Weak, he thought disgustedly, hauling himself to his feet and prising his legs from the bench. He was going to be sick. And very soon.

  He needed air. Needed to get out. But then he saw something that hit him like an arrow in the eye.

  Inga.

  She was standing on the far side near the doorway that opened into the blue and balmy night. Through the cloud of ale in his head, she appeared like a crimson dream, her long auburn hair pulled over one shoulder into a single loose braid, twined through with scarlet ribbons. He would have hailed her, but just then she threw back her head and laughed, and in a heartbeat, his dream became a nightmare when he saw whom she was with.

  He was older now, of course. A man, no longer a boy. But Hakan recognized the smug half-smile, the conceited tilt of his head. Konur, son of Karsten, heir to the Karlung lands and the bane of Hakan’s childhood memories. He remembered Konur’s taunts, the crushing humiliation of the other children’s laughter, his powerlessness against his older kinsman. He had tried to fight him then, but it had availed him nothing but a black eye and another stern talk from his mother.

  This time it would be different.

  As he stumbled towards them, Konur leaned in and whispered something to Inga. She smiled and Hakan saw Konur’s hand touch her elbow and steer her towards the door. Next moment they were gone, out into the night, and some other drunken clod was blocking his way, trying to get him to drink another toast.

  ‘Fenrir take you, fool!’ The guest looked wounded but Hakan didn’t care. ‘Out the way,’ he snarled, staggering off towards the bright midsummer night.

  Inga had been having a wonderful evening. The sights and sounds of a feast always filled her heart with warmth. How pleasing to see her hard work paid back in the happy faces and raucous laughter of her kin!

  Well, at least some of it had been her doing. Not as much as Tolla expected, but Tolla always expected too much. Especially from her. After all, wasn’t she the ward of the Lord of Vendlagard? Why should she have to do the same as a common thrall-girl?

  Anyway, the main thing was it was all a grand success. Hakan had been honoured and their guests were riotous. Songs had been sung; the men were in their cups; the women were full of stories; and everyone had been most gracious to her.

  Particularly the men. Whichever way she turned, there was another one wishing to speak with her. How different from the last feast when she’d been treated as little more than a nuisance! Now thanes and earls and great warriors were competing to make her laugh. As if she were someone to impress.

  Yes – it had been a splendid night.

  And one man especially had wanted to amuse her. The one laughing at her earlier. At first, when he’d come up to speak to her, she’d tried to brush him off, but he was quite determined and, it turned out, quite charming. He had sworn they had met before. When she had assured him he must be mistaken, he had insisted.

  ‘Twelve years ago. At this very hall.’

  ‘I can only have been three.’

  ‘Indeed, you were very small. You kept begging to climb all over me.’

  ‘And did you let me?’

  ‘I hardly had a choice,’ he laughed. ‘Perhaps the time has come for you to return the favour.’

  It took a moment for her to understand him, and when she did she felt her cheeks colour. ‘This hall is full of men sworn to protect the honour of my uncle – and his household. That includes me.’

  ‘Ha! Have no fear, Lady Inga. It’s not your honour I’m interested in.’

  He had levelled a gaze at her that she found discomforting. She had suddenly remembered Hakan, and glanced over to the high table where he was sitting. To her surprise, Hakan appeared to be engulfed under the flouncing curves of Kella, one of her uncle’s thralls. The girl was a slattern, everyone knew, but Hakan didn’t seem to be minding her attention at all.

  Inga turned away, annoyed.

  ‘There was a water butt, I remember,’ her admirer had continued. ‘In the end, you were being such a little pest, I threw you right into it.’

  ‘So that was you!’ Inga threw her head back and laughed. She remembered the shock of the cold water, and screaming for someone to lift her out. ‘You must be Konur.’

  He nodded. ‘I hope you’ve forgiven me by now.’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether you’re worth forgiving, I suppose.’ The two looked at each other. He had light grey eyes, pretty as a girl’s, and high sharp cheekbones. She couldn’t deny he was pleasing to look at.

  ‘This talk of water has made me thirsty,’ she suddenly blurted to break the moment. But when he offered to accompany her to the water butt, she let him. She didn’t know why.

  Outside the sky was a rich purple. Streaks of summer light broke up the darkness, though it was long past midnight. Inga loved the world in the summer. The way it throbbed with a kind of lust for living – from the great sun in the sky down to the tiniest little beetle under the earth. Like there was no time to sleep. Like there was too much life to be lived.

  The water butt was there, just as it had been twelve years before. She led Konur across the yard and took up the ladle hanging on a bit of twine. She offered him a drink, but he shook his head.

  ‘Are you mad? A man can’t quench his thirst with water! What would folk say?’

  ‘Stupid,’ she smiled, putting the ladle to her lips. The water was soothing after the heat of the revelry.

  She tossed the ladle back in the water. When she turned back, Konur had stepped nearer and without any warning, his hand slid round her hips.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she gasped.

  ‘What do you think?’ he murmured, his voice thick, pulling her close. ‘I’ve seen how you look at me. I want you too.’

  ‘Want you?’ she stammered, trying to slip from his grasp. ‘No – you’re so mistaken.’

  ‘Feel here.’ He grabbed her hand and forced it down. Her fingers brushed something hard. ‘There’s no mistaking that. I’m aching for you.’

  She recoiled, disgusted, but he only pulled her tighter against him, his mouth
searching for hers. She flicked her head side to side, desperate to get away, but he didn’t seem to care.

  ‘Stop – please, let me go.’ She pushed him away harder, but it was no good. ‘Let me go!’

  All of a sudden, Konur spun away and before she knew what was happening, a fist slammed into his face. There was a sickening crunch and Konur reeled back against the water butt.

  The barrel rocked, then crashed forward again, slewing water over Konur and his attacker.

  Konur was moaning, trying to shield his bloodied nose. Inga staggered away, glad to be free of him. The attacker threw himself on Konur, and the two set to writhing in the dirt.

  ‘Bastard! Bastard!’

  ‘Hakan!’ she cried, recognizing her cousin’s voice. But he wasn’t listening to her or anyone else. They rolled over and over, trying to get a hold, and even in the half-gloom she could see the anger on Hakan’s face.

  She’d never seen him like that. Never seen that blind rage burning in his eyes. It scared her.

  Konur had recovered his wits enough to fight back, and they went at it in a blizzard of fists, fingers, knuckles and knees, butting each other like boars. Konur got his arm around Hakan’s throat, twisting his head. Then Hakan seized his groin and yanked, hard. Konur shrieked and fell back, flinging out a lucky fist that cracked Hakan in the jaw. Hakan spat a shower of blood and rolled away groaning on the ground.

  ‘You’re a dead man,’ yelled Konur, leaping on top of Hakan, pounding at his face.

  ‘Stop it!’ screamed Inga. ‘Both of you! Stop!’ But it was no use. Nothing would make Konur stop until Hakan slammed a palm into his face. Konur squealed, blood streaming from his nose, while Hakan’s lips frothed scarlet spittle.

  She had to do something. This was no drunken brawl. One of them would do murder before much longer. She ran back into the hall. ‘They’re killing each other! Uncle Haldan! You must come at once!’

  She waited long enough to see her uncle turn to see what was the commotion and get up from his seat. Then back she went.

  The two of them were a tangle of limbs and mud and blood and curses, neither able to gain the advantage over the other. She heard voices behind her; at last people were coming. The first just gaped. Others circled around the fight, laughing and jeering drunkenly. And then, thank the gods, her uncle was there.

  He didn’t even break stride. Just went in, took hold of Hakan’s collar and yanked him off. Inga marvelled at how absurdly easy her uncle made it look.

  ‘What the Hel are you two about?’ Haldan slung his son down in a heap away from Konur, who was propped on an elbow, wiping his blood-smeared face on his sleeve.

  ‘Why don’t you ask your son? He’s a fucking animal.’

  Hakan was gulping down great lungfuls of air, his face still black with hatred.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Haldan.

  ‘He was attacking Inga!’ shouted Hakan.

  ‘I wasn’t attacking anyone!’ protested Konur. ‘Your idiot son was trying to murder me.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, boy,’ warned Haldan. ‘It’s unwise for a guest to insult his host.’

  ‘Aye – and a host his guest,’ returned Konur, picking himself out of the mud. ‘Is this the kind of hospitality a man should expect under your roof?’

  Inga was at Hakan’s side. He was spitting splinters of tooth into the mud. ‘It was a misunderstanding,’ she said.

  ‘What kind of misunderstanding?’ her uncle demanded, eyes as fierce at her as at the others.

  Inga wasn’t sure how to answer. Konur had thrown himself at her. But had he attacked her? ‘He . . . he was . . . forcing himself on me.’

  Konur scoffed at this. ‘Bah! I hardly laid a finger on her. Next thing I know, your cripple broke my fucking nose.’ He screwed up his eyes and tilted back his head.

  ‘He was hurting her. She was screaming. Father, believe me.’ There was no hiding Hakan’s slurred speech. ‘He’s nothing but contempt for us all.’

  ‘Go to Hel, cripple! Your son’s a madman, Haldan. You should keep him tied up.’

  ‘I suggest you tie that tongue of yours before your quarrel is with me and not my son.’

  ‘I had no quarrel with your son.’

  ‘He would have dishonoured Inga, Father.’ Hakan was picking himself up. Inga reached to help him, but he knocked her hand away. ‘She’s your ward. You’re sworn to protect her.’

  ‘I don’t need reminding what I must do. Inga, tell me what happened.’

  Inga always felt thrown when her uncle demanded she speak up; now worse than ever. Her mouth flopped open, but she had no notion what to say. Maybe this was her fault. She tried to think. What had happened? It seemed only moments ago she was a confident woman, yet now she was a naughty girl again. But before she could answer, another man appeared from the crowd.

  ‘I see your son has your father’s hot blood,’ the man said in a strangely whispery voice. She recognized him as a distant kinsman, of the Karlung clan, though with all the guests that night, she couldn’t recall his name. But she remembered that one dead eye. As a child, it always terrified her. It unnerved her still.

  ‘Just a squabble between boys, Karsten.’

  Karsten – that was it. Which made him Konur’s father and earl of the Karlung lands.

  ‘Let me guess. Injured Vendling pride?’ Karsten gave an easy chuckle. ‘Your father was the same. There’s many a man around the East Sea dead, thanks to his thin skin.’

  ‘His honour was precious to him.’

  ‘A good deal more than the lives of other men’s sons. Or his oaths. Or his loyalty.’

  ‘It was he who was betrayed.’

  Karsten snorted. ‘That’s not how the Wartooth sees it.’

  Inga was trying to keep up. The Wartooth, she knew, was Harald Wartooth, the old king of the Danish Mark, once overlord of their lands. But she knew the story of her grandfather, Haldor the Black, breaking faith with the Danish king. ‘I can’t help the stories that old boar tells himself,’ her uncle replied. ‘Men weave the truth as it suits them.’

  ‘Perhaps. But you can ill afford to let your son lose the few friends left you. Whatever his grievance.’

  ‘The insult was with your son.’

  ‘The insult is there,’ hissed Karsten, pointing at Konur. ‘In his bloody nose. A guest; a kinsman come in peace. An insult and provocation, I say.’

  ‘A scrap between boys. Nothing more.’ Haldan’s tone left no room for argument. That was obvious to everyone. Except, apparently, Karsten.

  ‘Boys who are heirs to both our lands. We share blood, you and I, even if it is five fathers back. But if our lines must feud, so be it. You’ll find the loss of the Karlungs’ friendship goes ill for you. And I have powerful friends—’

  ‘There will be no feuding. Whatever was traded between these two has been repaid. A bloody nose for a bloody mouth. There’s an end to it.’

  ‘So long as you tighten your son’s leash.’ Karsten’s dead eye glinted, pale as the moon.

  ‘And you the same,’ Haldan returned. ‘There’s more than one way to cause trouble.’ He nodded at Inga and she suddenly felt foolish. Like some stupid sheep to be bartered over.

  Gradually the hard lines of Karsten’s face softened into a languid laugh. ‘Truly said. Very well.’

  ‘Come – shake hands and make your peace.’ Haldan beckoned the two sons together. Hakan began to protest. ‘You will do as I command!’ Haldan bellowed.

  Inga watched them, half-expecting them to be at each other’s throats any moment. But they accepted each other’s hand, and shook. Yet all the while, Hakan’s gaze seethed hot with anger; and in Konur’s pale eyes was hatred cold as ice. There’s no peace here. Not a scrap.

  They separated.

  Seeing the climax had passed, the crowd was dispersing, distracted by something else. A loud thumping was resounding from inside: fists banging on oak tables; a murmur, growing ever louder.

  ‘A telling! A telling!’

  H
er uncle had already gone in with Karsten, an arm round him as they shared a joke. Her uncle knew when to fight, and when to talk.

  She turned back. Hakan was staring at her. She could see the drink in his eyes, but he said nothing. Just stood there, staring. Then, slowly, he turned and spat blood into the dirt.

  ‘Hakan, I—’

  He cut her off with a shake of his head and stalked after his father.

  ‘A telling – a telling!’ The chant grew louder still.

  Inga frowned, tears prickling her eyes. Konur was on his feet, his face a lascivious grin. Perhaps he expected one in return, even after what he had done. She turned her back on him. She was mad at him. Mad at everyone. Mad at herself most of all. But she wasn’t going to cry, she told herself, bunching her fists, swallowing down her tears. Suddenly, she wanted to yell a curse on all men. Confusing, infuriating, pitiful, frightening and wonderful all at once.

  ‘A telling! A telling!’ The very pillars of Vendlagard seemed to shake with the cry.

  Curiosity getting the better of her, she followed the others inside.

  Hakan was confused, angry and thoroughly drunk. He’d never been able to take much in the way of strong drink. Tonight only proved the point. Still, Konur had had it coming for ten years, and whatever he had tried with Inga only made it worse.

  His head hurt from too much ale, too many punches. But it didn’t bother him half so much as the pain in his heart. Why was Inga out there with that greasy son of a whore to begin with?

  He resumed his seat opposite his father when the chant of a hundred voices reached its climax.

  ‘A telling!’ they yelled. ‘A telling!’

  At last, the vala had made them wait long enough. She rose; a cheer erupted around the hall. She smiled, waving down the revellers, her bronze staff glinting in the firelight.