Vali agreed with him but said nothing. His silence was condemning enough. “Ledger, I did not come here to torment you in the afterlife. But if you know why Ailsa was chosen to bear this burden, it might help me anticipate the danger waiting for her in the shadows. There are dark forces competing against the Nine Realms. You and the rest of the fallen fight to train for Ragnarok, but the end might be closer than we realize.”
The chieftain tossed his spear back on the table, suddenly not feeling the urge to destroy. “Even if I did know why the Tether latched to her, what would you do about it? You said it yourself, you are no god. You cannot protect her.”
The elfin spared a glance at the dummy before hurtling his spear across the field. The weapon blasted through the center of its chest, and the target and the blade both splintered into pieces, littering the earth with their shattered remains. He turned to face Ledger, who only offered a grim expression.
“I can manage,” he said. His head cocked toward his not so indirect display of strength.
Ledger stroked the tip of his beard still matted with someone else’s blood. “You must promise me you will not tell Ailsa what I’m about to say. I do not want her to be ashamed of me… of our family.”
“It’s a bit late for that.”
A muscle feathered in the jarl’s jaw. “Promise me, Vali.”
The elfin placed a hand over his chest to feign loyalty. But he had no intention of keeping this man’s secrets—especially from Ailsa.
Ledger looked off into the distance where the evening sun was still brushing the blanket of nightfall. His chest rose and fell slowly before he spoke. “Our magic did not come from gods. It was not a blessing or a gift, but from an arrangement with the Volva.”
Vali’s posture stiffened at the mention of the witches. The Volva were more than just average seeresses. They were powerful beings skilled in sedir, called by all kinds of beings in times of crisis. Some believed they were followers of Gullveig, but those claims were disputed when the Volva continued to roam long after the witch disappeared. Legends said their blood magic could bless or curse, but not much else was known about them concerning where they lived or whom they learned their craft from. The mystery only added to their menace.
“My ancestor was Bjorn Bloodblade. He was known for being a merciless warrior and a fierce Ostman warlord. Before we conquered England and before Riverland had a king, Drakame was struggling to compete on the world stage. Despite the riches he accumulated on his raids, there was still conflict concerning who should lead the clans into war against the Saxons.
“Bjorn had two brothers and three sons, and the competition for the first Riverland king was a toss between any one of them. He was a successful warlord but had no consistent following as people didn’t like him much. He was… detestable. His bloodlust was disturbing even among our kind.” Ledger picked at a crimson spot caked into his wrist casually as he continued. “It is unclear if he contacted the Volva before or after he murdered his family—”
“Wait,” the elfin held up a hand to pause him. “I feel like you’re skipping over a very climactic part of the story.”
The man glowered. “If you care for the gory details, I will indulge you. The night before the vote he gathered his family into the gathering hall. He placed a poison in their ale and killed all three of his sons and his brothers, though his youngest brother had been suspicious and chose not to drink the ale. Bjorn was forced to personally end him.”
“He killed his entire family for a position?” Vali winced. And they called him the monster.
“Aye, but this wasn’t just a position. This would set up the line of whomever sat on the Riverland throne, and he wanted to be the one who established the North kingdom, as our enemies would come to call it. But what he did was not accepted well by the other clans, and they were threatening to exile him. When Bjorn realized he had made a grave mistake and exhausted all his other options, he sought assistance from the Volva. He needed an advantage that would make him invaluable to his people again.
“The witch agreed to help him, but she had a price. She would touch our family with the Blessing of the Berserker and give us a power on the battlefield outmatching any foe we faced. This blessing would remain as long as our line continued, but there was a catch. The women who were born into our family would face a short life. This was to balance the protection the blessing gave the warrior, to weaken our family just enough we could not create an empire of battlemages. Our daughters started dying younger and younger, from either illness or from battle, until we were barely producing heirs. We kept the blessing to Drakame, unified with only those in our clan so that the blood spread to as many of our followers’ families as possible. But once the original line ends, the blessing will die with it.”
“The line ends with Ailsa?”
Ledger put his mouth beneath the spout on a barrel perched on the table, letting the mead flow into his mouth directly from the tap. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “She was supposed to marry a shieldmage, his lineage to our common ancestor is weak but their union would have continued the line. I already paid her dowry—”
“His name wouldn’t be Erik, would it?”
The man frowned and shook his head. “No. I forced his family away when I saw Ailsa and Erik becoming too close. Erik’s family has never shown evidence of the blessing, and I needed to make sure Ailsa joined with someone who had the blessing in his blood so it would be passed down.”
Vali was pacing the field. His mind was fumbling with the pieces Ailsa and her father had given him to connect their stories. “But Ailsa claimed Erik and his family chose to leave. He wrote her a letter stating he wished her well.”
Ledger shrugged. “I made Erik write that letter. Sent him and his family away with enough gold to fund the five clans combined. His father would have castrated him if he refused me.”
Vali stared at the man long and hard, trying to understand how a woman so considerate and caring could come from a long line of selfishness. Then he remembered what Ailsa told him, the agony she faced after losing not only Erik but her child—all because of her father’s ambition to maintain their pedigree. “But she was in love with him! You made her think Erik did not want her.”
“She was nineteen, elfin. Hardly old enough to know what love is nor what is good for her. Besides, I would not want my daughter with such a man. Erik’s temper outmatched even that of his father. He might have deceived her into believing he was genuine, but I saw the darkness inside him. And for the sake of the blessing, she must be with Nikros.”
If Vali had not already thrown his spear, he would have used Ledger as his personal training dummy. His hands itched for something to skewer him with. “Blessing?” he seethed. “You think what Ailsa endures is a blessing? One you arrogantly want to pass on to the other women in your line just so your clan can preserve their magic?”
He staggered away from the elfin as Vali crossed the distance between them, his strides hungry. “Well, when you put it that way—” he stammered.
“There is no other way to put it!” Vali grabbed the nearest hammer and swung it towards the man’s temple, narrowly missing his skull. As Ledger ducked, he tripped over his own boots, falling on his arse before him. Vali towered over him, clutching the mallet. “You don’t deserve Valhalla. You don’t deserve an afterlife among the honorably slain. There is no honor in misleading your daughter and asking her to bear the curse of your ancestor’s mistakes.”
Ledger’s face flinched as the elfin reared back the hammer, ready to let it fall on his head. But Vali hesitated, lowering it by an inch even as his breath heaved heavily with hatred. “Why did you burn Jomeer?”
The man’s face twisted with confusion. “Jomeer? I burned the witch because she came to Drakame uninvited and threatened to tell everyone the truth about our magic.”