Malice Striker by Jianne Carlo

her on the way to the great hall. She fair raced there. Her poor flame-haired companion was breathless, and she stumbled not your wife.”
    Brökk lurched to his feet. “She raced?”
    Konáll rolled his eyes. “’Twould appear a loss of vision impedes not the functioning of legs and arms and, if that well-sated gleam in your eye is aught to go by, her womanly—”
    “Desist.” He slumped into the seat. “Raced. Think you, you would run if you could not see? She deceived me for two days. Not once did I suspect. In what else does she mislead me?”
    The alehouse buzzed with activity. The dawn catch had arrived not moments afore. On the jetty to the left of the open doorway, fishermen stood before a long table scaling and gutting fish. The alewife strode up and down the pier halting to speak with the occasional passerby and favoring one fish peddler after another with a purchase.
    When the undecided early morning breeze switched direction, the rank smell of innards and brine swamped the doughy aroma of bread baking. The sun had risen, and the sky ruling the morn held not a wisp of cloud.
    “I watched her carefully when I took them to the hall. She has a temper, your wife. When I told her you had forbidden her the kitchen, the tips of her ears reddened. Forsooth after Etta I too am wont to be wary of females, but something about Skatha slides under your skin. I find myself wanting to shield her the way I do Hjørdis.” Konáll met Brökk’s gaze. “I fear you are of a similar persuasion, brother.”
    “Nay. I will not let her crawl into my affections. We have matters of more import to attend to. Two farms were fired last eve. I dispatched Raki and a troupe to investigate and aid the families.”
    “’Tis the ninth fire since you were injured. I am befuddled by their strategy. A nibble here, a bite there, yet no direct attacks upon us or Bita Veðr.”
    “There are but two, at most, three sennights left afore the ice sets in. We must make our move to aid Dráddør in rescuing Hjørdis afore that.” Brökk signaled a passing wench, and when she halted at their table, placed an order for ale, cheese, bread, and fruit.
    “We both cannot go to the highlands.” Konáll leaned on the wooden wall, head cradled in his hands. “’Tis your holding and you must secure your wife’s affections. I will leave on the morrow.”
    “Nay. Ali’s third ship arrives today. Mayhap Cardas will bring word from Dráddør. We will wait to see what news he has and then make our plans.” Loath though he was to leave Skatha and Bita Veðr, Brökk yearned to wreak his vengeance on Baron Loudon.
    “Think you Harald Bluetooth has some involvement in Hjørdis’s kidnapping?”
    “Nay. I trust no monarch, for they are only concerned with the gaining and keeping of power, and will eliminate any who threaten their rule. But Harald needs us as allies, and Bita Veðr is a key holding for the trade routes he craves to control.” Brökk massaged his bunched neck muscles.
    “I see you feel it too. Something is amiss. ’Tis like the crackling in a storm before ThMrr’s hammer strikes white bolts.” Konáll raised a brow. “Here comes Ali now and Cardas is with him.”
    Brökk spied the two men, one short and rotund, one tall and lean. Cardas, Ali’s trusted captain, had been the one who harbored their mother after her escape from ThMrr’s hall. He and his two brothers owed a debt of great magnitude to both men.
    “Good morn, Malice Striker, Death Blow. How fare you?” Cardas showed his white teeth as he grinned. “I hear you have taken a goddess to wife. A jötunn goddess no less.”
    “Forced to take a goddess to wife. Did Ali not inform you the vows were decreed by the Emperor Tzimiskes and Harald Bluetooth?” Brökk shook his head at the other man’s garb. While Ali dressed to match those with whom he traded, Cardas favored the classic Berber burnus , loose breeches, and supple brown knee-high boots. Today his hooded cape was of