Vali grunted and turned away.
‘Are you looking forward to the wedding? We’ll have a rare feast that night, I think,’ Aegirr said as he did so.
‘What wedding?’
‘Adisla, the slut from the top farms, is to marry Drengi Half Troll from over the valley. What a union that will be!’
Vali was stunned. He even forgot the insult to Adisla.
‘That is not so,’ he said.
‘I’m afraid that it is,’ said Ageirr. ‘I heard it from her brother this morning. Go and ask if you don’t believe me.’
‘If you’re lying, you’ll answer to me,’ said Vali. Then he ran. He knew that Drengi had asked Adisla to marry him before and been refused. Drengi was a good man, strong and hard-working, but he was known as Half Troll because he was both ugly and not much given to talk. Adisla, thought Vali, could never agree to marry him, could she?
He made Disa’s house at a sprint. Adisla wasn’t there when he arrived, but her mother was sitting outside in the sunlight pulverising some acorns from her store with a large stone.
‘Is it true?’
He saw by her eyes that it was.
‘Why?’
Disa stopped her pounding.
‘You are of a different rank, Vali, and sworn to a princess. My girl is three summers past the age she could have married. It’s right that she should do so.’
‘I love her, Ma. Is it right she should turn her back on that?’
Disa tapped the pounding stone on the edge of her wooden bowl.
‘She hasn’t said yes to him yet, though I think she intends to.’
‘Don’t let her. Make her refuse him.’
She pursed her lips. ‘What life would it be as your concubine, Vali? You can’t marry her so that’s all she can ever be. What if you tire of her?’
‘I will not tire of her.’
‘Won’t you? Forkbeard changes his concubines with every season.’
‘I’m not Forkbeard,’ he said.
Vali wanted to say more, to reason with Disa, but he was too shocked. He had never discussed it with Adisla but had always assumed he would have to marry Forkbeard’s daughter, if that’s what their peoples demanded. Then he would father a son and never have much to do with her again, taking Adisla as his wife in all but name. Once Adisla was married to another man, it became a different proposition. That brought spears, blood and feuds.
Vali glanced around, looking for Adisla’s brothers to see if they could talk some reason into Disa. They weren’t there, though — gone away to Nidarnes as part of Forkbeard’s advance guard to prepare the way for the meeting of kings before midsummer.
‘I won’t let this happen,’ said Vali to Disa.
‘It’s for the best. You love her now but will you offer her the security a husband can when she’s old? Will you-’
He didn’t wait for her to finish speaking. Forkbeard’s hall was a good distance inland but he arrived there in a heartbeat. The king was hearing a dispute between two farmers when Vali burst in. The farmers recognised him and withdrew to the side of the room.
Another man, further down the hall, stood up as Vali entered. He was tall, young and powerfully built. His clothes were out of the ordinary. He wore a bright white silk shirt, the like of which Vali had only ever seen in the possession of the trader Veles Libor. Vali thought that perhaps he recognised him, but the thought was fleeting. He approached the king and bowed. Forkbeard — one of those squat strong men who gives the impression of being wider than he is tall — was slurping at a bowl of soup and getting much of it down his beard. He was a tough man who’d come to kingship through fighting his way there. His court was not one of intrigue and debate but a place where, to carry an argument, you had to outfight or outdrink your opponent, preferably both.
‘If, prince, you’re here again with some fancy plan about how we can win battles without fighting, then save your breath. A man goes into war thinking only of his foe to his front and his friend at his side, not weighed down with schemes. Raid and fight or stay put, that’s the deal. Take it or leave it and don’t ask me again. We’ve been here too many times before, haven’t we, lads?’
A couple of the bodyguard nodded and said that they had. Vali had repeatedly annoyed Forkbeard with his contention that planning could win a battle more effectively than direct attack. Forkbeard had always just asked him where glory fitted into his schemes.
‘I have not come about that.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘I want you to release me from my marriage pact with your daughter. I am not the son you want, and the Rygir deserve a better, stronger prince than me.’
Forkbeard snorted. ‘You’re right there, son.’
Vali’s heart skipped.
The king lifted his beard and licked the soup off it. He seemed to ponder for a moment.
‘But forget it. Too many questions if I release you — half the kings along the coast would think I was planning to have a go at Authun. And, worst still, so might he. That is a war-loving fellow indeed. Ain’t that right, lads?’ The bodyguard said that it was.
‘My father will not take offence, and he has not raised a sword these ten years.’ Even though Forkbeard was not given to niceties, Vali instinctively gave him the respect of high speech.
‘Too long for a man like that,’ said Forkbeard. ‘I tell you, son, if I could think of a way to stop this marriage then I would. Your children will be weaklings, but what can I do?’
‘Find another prince, lord.’
Forkbeard shook his head. ‘Your old dad wouldn’t like it,’ he said, ‘but, as it happens, there might be a way out after all. Hogni, get up here.’
The young man in the silk shirt came forward and bowed to Vali and Forkbeard.
‘Hogni son of Morthi,’ he said, ‘messenger to King Authun.’
So that was where Vali had seen him, at Authun’s court.
‘Tell the prince what his father has said.’
The man bowed again and looked slightly nervous.
‘Go on,’ said Forkbeard. ‘No one gets the chop here without my leave. It’s me who’s asked you to speak to him, so say what Authun told you. If the prince wants to pick a fight about it he can pick one with me, and that’s a bit of trouble he won’t want, I can tell you.’
‘That’s right!’ said a bodyguard.
Hogni glanced at Forkbeard and then addressed Vali precisely and formally. ‘Exalted King Forkbeard, terror of the south, mighty in battle, lord of the Rygir, know that it is my wish that my idle son be shaken from his life of ease. Reports tell me that he ignores arms, counsel and raiding in favour of conversation with women. Let him prove himself. The land to the north of our kingdoms is beset by bandits. Merchants, shepherds and farmers all fear attack from the savage men who plague the Troll Mountains. Truly these men are wolves, sorcerers able to assume the form of that monstrous animal, striking down with fury and viciousness all that cross them, invulnerable to weapons and murderous in intent. Seven of my own men have died trying to wipe out this scourge. My son will bring you the head of one before midsummer. If he does not, then I leave it to you to impose a meaningful penalty.’
Vali looked at the man and then back to Forkbeard.
‘Why this? Why now?’
‘Who are you whying?’ said Forkbeard.
Vali ignored his belligerence. ‘It makes no difference to my request. Release me from the pact with your daughter and allow Adisla to marry me, or at least forbid her from marrying anyone else.’
Forkbeard looked to the rafters.‘That farm girl is the cause of all the bother in my life. I have less problems with the bastard Danes than I do with her!’ He lowered his eyes and stared straight at Vali. ‘Return with a wolfman’s head — no, better for proof, the whole man — or your Adisla is Odin’s bride at the summer blot. She’ll hang to please the god.’
Vali went pale.