She tried for some dignity, failed, and said on a giggle, “I will tell you about Fromm and Cardle, two men who became the husbands of sisters in a royal family, Helga and Ferlain. Fromm was a bully and vicious, Cardle was a man who lived for learning, a man not really of this world. Helga saw immediately that her groom, Fromm, would be easily led by her, even though he was mean and petty. She told Ferlain to measure the strength of her groom, Cardle, and so Ferlain did and discovered there wasn’t all that much strength there to measure. Then they met in the tower of the king’s fortress and compared what they’d learned. They decided that through their husbands, they would be able to take over the kingdom. Unfortunately they first had to rid themselves of the king’s heir, but he was grown and was away from the city. Ah, but there was their little half brother named Ninian and he was next in line after the king’s son. Surely they could begin by ridding themselves of Ninian.
“But this wasn’t so easily done, for little Ninian had a magic friend.”
Laren stopped, frowned, then demanded, “More ale for the skald, if you please, husband. My wits are near parched dry of words.”
Merrik gave her a full cup of ale, then clasped her legs again to keep her steady.
“What happened to the husbands?” Oleg called out. “Come along, Laren, tell us before your wits take flight into oblivion.”
“Who was Ninian’s magic friend?”
She frowned from her height on the table at Oleg and then at Bartha, a big-bosomed woman who had dyed the beautiful saffron gown Laren wore. “Ninian’s magic friend was a Viking warrior who appeared only when the child was in danger. He was as cunning, as wild, as fearless, as a berserker. He wore bearskins like a berserker, but he didn’t howl or scream out to the gods, or roll his eyes when he met an enemy. No, the Viking warrior was silent as a spirit. Once, when Ninian had lost his nurse in the forest close by the king’s fortress, a wolf attacked him. The Viking warrior appeared as if spun from the smoke from a fire, tossed Ninian up onto a tree branch, and turned to face the leaping wolf. He gutted the wolf with his sword. Then, slowly, the warrior turned to the child and said, ‘You may be the king one day. I was sent to keep you safe. Come down now and go back to the fortress. Your nurse is frantic with worry for you.’
“He lifted Ninian back to the ground, patted the child’s shoulder, and then he just seemed to fade into the thick green trees. One moment he was there—solid and strong as the oak trunk, a huge man, his sword covered with the wolf’s blood—and the next moment, he was gone, simply disappeared. The child stood there, not understanding, but not afraid.
“A dozen soldiers burst into the small clearing. They saw the dead wolf, saw the child standing over it, and they were struck dumb.
“And thus the legend began of Ninian, the king’s nephew, who, when still a small child, killed a wolf. That the wolf had been gutted with a sword was dismissed and forgotten. The more thoughtful knew that the child couldn’t have lifted a sword, much less smote the wolf a killing blow. The king marveled at this small being. The small being himself marveled. He tried to tell his nurse of the Viking warrior, but she was in no mood to believe that a spirit could have slain the wolf. No, she would prefer Ninian to be the magic one, the special one, the one chosen by the gods to follow the king.
“The sisters decided they would kill the child. They didn’t believe he killed the wolf, for Helga had powers herself, and she had watched Ninian, and seen none in him. Thus they convinced themselves that a man had come along, seen the child was in danger, killed the wolf, then quickly left before the soldiers came.
“Aye, they would kill the boy. Helga cast a spell in her tower room. She called up the demons of fire and ice and desert sands. She bade them use their powers to rid them of the child. The demon of fire appeared and said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. He is sworn protection by one far more powerful than I. Leave him alone.’
“Helga cursed him and sent him back into the netherworld. She called up the demon of ice. He said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. A higher power than I guards him. Leave him alone.’
“Helga still would not accept the demons’ words. She called forth the demon of the desert sands. He
said, ‘You are a fool, woman, to call up the coward demons of fire and ice before you called me. You wish me to kill the child. I will kill him and I will enjoy it. Then you will be in my debt.’
“The demon disappeared in a swirl of thick black smoke. Helga rejoiced and told her sister that the child would soon be dead. They told their husbands. They all waited. One day Ninian was found missing. The king and all his soldiers couldn’t find him. Everyone in the land searched for the child, but he wasn’t to be found. He was gone, disappeared with no trace.”
Laren looked down at Merrik and said, “I am going to be sick.” She jumped down, trusting him to catch her, then broke away from him and ran through the open palisade doors and into the bushes around the path.
Oleg slapped Merrik on his back. “Perhaps she will not be groaning overmuch this night or racing from your bed to be sick. There is still hope, Merrik.”
Merrik grunted. “Perhaps, but give me leave to doubt it. She will be very unhappy on the morrow.”
“I want to know what happened to Ninian,” Oleg called.
“Aye,” Roran yelled out, “I want to know who the Viking warrior was.”
“I hope she doesn’t puke away the story with her guts,” Bartha said, “else I won’t dye her another gown.”
“And I,” Merrik said, gazing through the open gates of the palisade, “wonder if my bride will even remember the Viking warrior or me on the morrow.”
“With all that royal blood,” Old Firren said, and then spat, “surely she can recover quickly from the ale.”
And she did. It was near to midnight when Merrik, convinced she was back to herself again, took her hand and raised her from the bench. He said to all his very drunk people, “There is no rain coming, for Eller hasn’t smelled anything.”
“He can only smell the foul odors of savages!”
“That’s true enough,” Merrik said, laughing, “but the night is clear. Stay here if you wish and keep drinking. I will take my wife to my bed.”
They were given advice in the marriage bed, all of it very specific, all of it accompanied with laughter as both men and women played their parts as the bride and groom.
Merrik believed her embarrassed until they stepped inside the sleeping chamber and she said, “I trust you took note of all they said, Merrik.”
“Aye,” he said, and pulled her against him. “I heard everything.”