The Vicious One

 

 

The North Sea was a beast that morning. I stood at the bow of the Shewolf, my fingers gripping the smooth, salt-worn rail as the ship cut through the waves like a blade through flesh. The wind howled, sharp and cold, carrying the tang of salt and the promise of blood. Behind me, the oarsmen rowed in steady rhythm, their breath misting in the chill air, their faces set in grim determination. The dragon-headed prow of the ship glared toward the distant shoreline of the river Forth, the imaginary border where Englaland ended, and Alba, or Scotland began. I stared at it a moment, the eyes of the carved beast were fierce and unblinking, as if it, too, hungered for the fight to come.

 

The Shewolf was a small ship, but she was sturdy and swift, her name a gift from Egil Skallagrimsson, the Icelandic skald who had carved her figurehead years ago. I ran a hand along the rail, feeling the grooves where Elaina had carved her name as a child. She had been ten years old then, wild and untamed, her dark eyes alight with wonder as Egil told her tales of his adventures. The ship had been his gift to her—a symbol of her spirit, he said. It was a small toy ship at the time but Egil had her carve her name into a plank of good oak, and promised when she came of age, he would present her with a real ship of her own, if she still desired such things. When that time came, Egil had gone to the valour hall, but my grandfather kept his promise for him.

 

The Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg had brought Elaina home with Benedetta, his lover, when I was just a small boy. Now, at eighteen, Elaina stood amidships, her two curved Sassanid-style shamshir blades strapped to her back, her face set in a look of fierce determination. The blades were a gift from the Bishop Oda of Rammesburi, a friend of my grandfather's, and a friend to Bebbanburg. "Elaina the Vicious," they called her now, with the encouragement of my grandfather, and she wore the name like a crown. It fit her perfectly.

 

"You’re quiet," she said, almost accusingly, stepping up beside me. Her voice cut through the sound of the waves, sharp and clear. She tilted her head, studying me with those piercing gray eyes that always seemed to see too much. "Nervous?"

 

I shook my head, though my stomach churned with a mix of excitement and dread. "Not nervous. Just thinking."

 

"Thinking will get you killed," she said with a smirk. "Better to act. Thinking can come later."

 

Cian, son of Finan, my grandfather's lifelong companion, laughed from where he leaned against the mast. He was a few years older than me, with his father’s quick grin and easy confidence. "She’s right, cousin. You’ve got too much of your father in you. Always worrying, always planning. Sometimes you just have to let the blades do the talking."

 

I shot him a glare, but there was no malice in it. Cian was like a brother to me, and his teasing was as much a part of him as his skill with a sword. "And what would you know about thinking, Cian? You’ve never had a thought that wasn’t about ale or women."

 

He shrugged, still grinning, his words lilting with a charming touch of his parents Irish. "And I’ve lived this long, haven’t I?"

 

Elaina rolled her eyes but said nothing. She turned her gaze back to the shoreline, her expression hardening. "We’ll hit them hard and fast. No mercy. They’ve been raiding our lands for too long. It’s time they learned the price of crossing Bebbanburg."

 

Those words were left to linger. I leaned against the rail, my eyes fixed on the horizon. The Shewolf creaked and groaned beneath me, her timbers straining against the waves. "Do you remember when Egil gave you that small wooden model of- well -this ship?" I asked, breaking the silence.

 

Elaina’s lips twitched in a faint smile. "I was what, ten? He carved it all himself. Said it reminded him of me—wild and untamed." She ran a hand along the rail, her fingers tracing the same grooves of her childhood carvings. "I thought it was the greatest gift anyone could give me."

 

"It still is," I said quietly. "The ship is part of you. This ship is a part of you. Just like Bebbanburg is a part of all of us."

 

Cian snorted. "You sound like the old wolf, Osbert. Always so poetic about legacy and bloodlines. Sometimes a ship is just a ship."

 

Elaina shot him a glare. "And sometimes it’s more. This ship is a reminder of who I am—who we are. It’s not just wood and nails, Cian. It’s freedom. Free. Something I was very nearly not before I came here."

 

Cian held up his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll leave the philosophizing to you two."

 

I turned to Cian suddenly when a thought struck me, and my expression turned serious. "Any word from your mother?"

 

His grin faded, and he looked out at the sea, to the land to our west. "She’s in Dublin, as far as I know. Father sent her to gather information from her kin about Olaf Guthfrithson. The man’s been stirring up trouble again, and we need to know what he’s planning."

 

Elaina’s eyes narrowed. "Olaf’s a snake. He’ll strike when we least expect it."

 

I nodded, my mind racing. Olaf Guthfrithson, the Norse king of Dublin, was a threat we couldn’t ignore. If he was planning something, we needed to be ready. Bebbanburg couldn’t afford another siege. Engelaland couldn't afford another war. Brununburh had been but nearly a year old. "If he’s planning something, I hope Bebbanburg is ready," I said, more to myself than to them.

 

Cian clapped me on the shoulder. "Don’t worry, cousin. We’ll handle it. We always do."

 

At that moment, a voice called out from the stern, pulling me from my thoughts. "My lady, lord, over here!"

 

I turned to see the son of Berg Skallagrimsson, Rurik, waving at us. He was a broad-shouldered boy in his early teens with his father’s strength and his mother’s sharp wit. He had long dark hair tied back and a sculpted face and blade of a nose, like a bird of prey. He had joined the crew only a few months ago, but he had already proven himself in battle, and was a Skallagrimsson, so nothing less but savagery was expected from the line of Ulfhethner warriors.

 

"What do you want, boy?" Elaina called back, her tone sharp but not unkind.

 

He grinned. "Just making sure you two haven’t fallen overboard. We’re almost there, and I’d hate to have to explain to the Lord Uhtred why I lost his grandson and his favorite warrior."

 

Elaina rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "You’re as bad as your father, Rurik. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong."

 

Rurik laughed, the sound was hearty and high pitched, one of the few traits of childhood the growing boy still retained.

 

The ship finally grounded on the beach somewhere east of Dunblane on the river Forth. It landed with a shudder, and the warriors surged forward, their weapons gleaming in the pale light of dawn. Elaina was the first to leap onto the shore, her curved sassanid blades already in hand. She moved like a shadow, her steps light and swift, her eyes scanning the terrain with the precision of a predator. I followed close behind, my sword and shield at the ready. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the mix of fear and excitement that came with the prospect of battle.

 

The village was small, a cluster of huts made of wattle and daub surrounded by a wooden palisade. The Scots had been raiding Northumbrian lands for months, taking livestock, burning crops, and killing anyone who stood in their way. Now, it was time for retribution.

 

The residents were entirely unprepared. Elaina led the charge, her blades flashing as she cut down the first defenders before they could even raise their weapons. Cian and I followed, our swords opening a lane through the chaos. The Scots were fierce fighters, but they were without mail and proper weaponry for the ferocity and element of surprise presented by the Bebbanburg warriors.

 

I found myself face-to-face almost immediately with a burly Scot, his beard matted and his eyes wild with rage. He swung a heavy axe, and I barely managed to raise my shield in time. The impact jarred my arm, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward. I could smell the man's stale breath as he tried to wrench his axe free of my shield. I pushed the shield out and to my left, his right, exposing his midsection and then, in a learned reflex, buried "Drengr" deep in his guts. I felt my blade punch through his unarmored body as if he was made of butter. I pulled and twisted upward on the longsword and then kicked the man off, pulling it free. He fell with a grunt, and I stepped over him, my heart pounding in my chest.

 

I glanced around, and saw Elaina was a whirlwind of brutality, her blades moving faster than the eye could follow. She cut through the defenders with a precision that was almost inhuman, her movements fluid and deadly, like a dance of death. Cian fought with his father’s speed, a single sword, no shield and moved in a blur as he cut down anyone who dared dance to the sword song with him.

 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, someone in mail appeared in the center of the dying scantly clad scots. He was in all of his battle glory, and it was indeed glorious. Gold trimmed his mail, his sword's sheath, and his belt was clad with large round golden discs. He was young, no older than me, with helmeted unruly brown hair and a voice that rang out like a war horn. He led a counter-charge, his sword flashing in the sun, his eyes blazing with determination. Elaina, surrounded by a few of the Shewolf's crew, met him head-on, her blades clashing against his with a sound like ringing bells.

 

The mailed man was tall and lean, his movements graceful and precise. His mail was shining reflecting the sunlight, and his shield bore the symbol of his house—a roaring lion. His eyes were a striking blue, and there was a fierceness in them that spoke of courage and pride. He was no mere boy playing at war; he was a warrior, and he fought like one.

 

Elaina circled him like a wolf would their prey, her curved blades held low, her eyes locked on his. Warriors from both sides were sprawled around them, but we were on the winning side of this engagement, for more scots lay dead than the Shewolf's crew. A lot more. Perhaps we had lost two or three oarsmen and all of them at the mailed man's sword. Unlike the man she faced, Elaina wore no mail, held no shield, and bore no helmet. Her feet were ever moving; steps light and deliberate, and her lean wirey frame was coiled like a spring.

 

The prince watched her carefully, his sword and shield raised, his movements measured and controlled.

"You fight as well as I've heard," he said, his voice calm and steady. "But you are far from home, vicious one. What brings you to our lands?"

 

Elaina smirked at the recognition, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Your people have been raiding ours for months, years, generations even. We have come to teach you a lesson again."

 

The prince’s lips curled in a distant smile. "Your people are they now?" he paused, let his sword drop to his side in feigned deliberation, "...and a lesson, is it? And what will you do when the lesson is over? Will you return to your Iberian masters and tell them you have slain a son of Constantine, or do you return to the Lord Uhtred?"

 

Elaina offered no audible reply, her smirk faded, and her grey eyes hardened. The sweat glistened off of her face that was colored darker than everyone else, like the color of a well-crafted ale.

 

The prince nodded at the stoic display, his expression turning serious. "Then let us see who is the better teacher."

 

He lunged at her, his sword flashing in the late afternoon sunlight. Elaina sidestepped, her blades slicing through the air as she countered. The prince blocked her strikes with his shield, his movements quick and precise. He was strong, but Elaina was fast. She ducked under a powerful swing that was meant to remove her head from her shoulders, and one of her curved blades found purchase across the front of his thigh. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall.

 

The Scotsman gritted his teeth and pressed the attack, his sword and sheer strength driving the smaller Italian girl's light frame backward.

 

Elaina found her footing quickly though and danced around him, blades a blur of motion. She struck at him from all angles, her movements fluid and unpredictable. The prince blocked and parried skillfully, his shield and sword moving in perfect harmony. He was good—quicker than I had expected—but Elaina was better.

 

"You fight like a demon," the prince said, his voice strained, his breathing hard, but disposition still seemed calm. "Where did you learn to wield those devilish blades?"

 

Elaina’s lips pulled upward in a grin. "From a pair of men who fight like the gods."

 

The prince laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound. "Well, then my reputation will shine from your death"

 

He lunged at her again, his sword flashing at her face. Elaina met him head-on, her weapons clashing against his,the sound was a hammering on an anvil, forging fate's saex. They fought in a blur of motion, movements too fast to follow. The prince was strong and well trained, but Elaina was fast and more agile and she was wearing him down. She ducked under another of his flat neck bound swings; the curved blade wielded in her right hand slicing upward, catching him right under the armpit, nearly severing his arm. He stumbled, and she pounced forward immediately, winding her other blade and driving it deep into his midsection.

 

The prince lay on his back now, blood bubbling from his lips and through the separated rings of mail where her fatal gut blow had taken him. He looked up at Elaina, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

 

"Vicious indeed.." he said, his voice barely a whisper, his lips curling into a mocking smile "But you know nothing of war foolish girl, and my father-" coughing interrupted him from somewhere low in his chest, and more blood escaped the corners of his mouth. "My father will bring war for this."

 

Elaina was standing over him, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with triumph. "Good, I pray I meet him soon," her voice was cold and hard. She gave the blade one tough pull upward, splintering his ribs and obliterating his heart before pulling it free.

 

The prince’s eyes fluttered shut, and his hand opened, his sword slipping from his grasp as his fingers relaxed in death's escape. I noticed that small detail, even in the heat of battle, but most Scots were of the Christ religion so I did not jump to secure the brave warriors' place in the valour hall, and neither did his killer.

 

Elaina stood over him for an extended moment, her blades still in hand, her chest rising and falling with the effort of the fight. She was covered every bit in royal blood. Then... she just turned and walked away. Her expression was unreadable as she rejoined her men to finish off anyone who was left.

 

The raid was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The village was in flames, and the surviving Scots had fled into the hills. We gathered our plunder and returned to the ship, our faces grim but satisfied. The body of the Scottish prince was wrapped in a cloak and carried onto the ship, Elaina's order, a grim reminder of the cost of war.

 

"We should throw him overboard, prince or not" Cian said as we began to prepare the ship to push back into the north sea.

 

"We will not." Elaina spat before I could reply, shooting Cian another one of those piercing glares. "I will bring his body and present it to the Lord Uhtred."

 

"I'm not sure he will see this as the victory that you do Elaina" I said plucking her elbow and pulling her with Cian away from rowers who did not need to hear any doubt about the acts they just committed.

 

"He will." She replied, almost non-chalantly, as she broke free of my grip on her arm and started to turn away.

 

"Maybe." I said, "But maybe this will start a war. We have a fragile peace with the scots, they are not happy after the outcome Brunanburh."

 

Elaina shook her heard as if shaking herself awake from a dreamland. "They can come," she began and her voice was low and had a hardness to it. "But if they come, they will not return home. Not unless they are carried there by crows."

 

The Shewolf cut through the waves, her dragon-headed prow slicing through the water like a blade. The wind had died down, and the sea was calm now, but the mood aboard the ship was anything but. I stood at the bow, my hand resting on the rail, my thoughts heavy. The body of the Scottish prince lay wrapped in a cloak at the stern, a grim reminder of the cost of our victory. Some hours had past, and Elaina stood beside me once more, her expression apathetic .Cian leaned closed by against the mast, his usual grin absent.

 

"You’re quiet again," Elaina said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft now, almost hesitant, which was unusual for her. She was never one to mince words.

 

I glanced at her, my eyes narrowing. "Aren’t you?"

 

She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the horizon before she broke to glance at me, and for a rare moment, I saw the little girl who played with that small wooden ship in the puddles that gathered outside the great hall. Then she mumbled, almost inaudibly. "I’ve never killed a prince before. It’s... different."

 

Cian, who had sharp hearing, and even sharper eyes much like his father, snorted, pushing himself off the mast and walking over to join us. "Different? It’s just another body, Elaina. Doesn’t matter if he’s a prince or a farmer. Dead is dead."

 

Elaina shot him a glare, her eyes blazing. "It’s not the same, Cian. Osbert's right. A prince’s death means war. You know that as well as I do."

 

Cian shrugged, as if the prospect of war was much the same as the prospect of washing. "I’m saying...you did what you had to do. No point in broodin' over it."

 

I sighed, running a hand through my long blonde hair, which I wore free today, falling at my shoulders. "Cian’s right too, in a way. We did what we had to do. Bad luck it was a prince there...and either way that doesn't mean that war won't follow."

 

Elaina’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You’re more like that old wolf than you think, Osbert. Always thinking, always worrying. Sometimes you just have to act and deal with the consequences later."

 

I looked at her, my eyes narrowing again, and my voice was perhaps sharper than I had meant for it to be as I shrugged her hand off my shoulder. "And what about you, Elaina? Do you ever think about the consequences?"

 

She hesitated, her gaze flickering to the body at the stern. "I think about them," she said quietly. "But I don’t let them control me. If I did, if any of us did, we would never pick up a sword."

 

Cian laughed, clapping me on the back. "Listen to her, cousin. She’s got the right idea. Life’s too short to worry about every little thing."

 

I shook my head, a faint and tired smile tugging at my lips. "You’re impossible."

 

He grinned, his usual confidence returning. "And you’re too serious. Lighten up little lord. We’re going home."

 

 

The Shewolf  slid into the harbor, her oarsmen rowing with practiced ease. The fortress of Bebbanburg loomed above us, its walls towering and unyielding, sitting high on the rock that offered it unprecedented natural protection. Uhtred the Elder, the old wolf, my grandfather, stood straightbacked on the docks, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. His silver-streaked hair blew in the wind, and his expression was unreadable. Beside him was his son, my father, Uhtred the Younger, his face aging, lined with the weight of responsibility. He must have been in his mid forties.

 

As we disembarked, the old warrior stepped forward, his gaze flicking to the wrapped body at the stern. His eyes, while not as good as they once were, still sparkled with wisdom even at 81 or so years old. They seemed to recognize the expense of the mail and other garments that showed beneath the covering.

 

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

 

Elaina stepped forward, her chin raised defiantly, still covered in scottish guts. "We taught the Scots a lesson. They won’t raid our lands again."

 

My grandfather's gaze met hers, and then flicked to the wrapped body. "And who is that?"

 

"We are not sure," I answered for her. "He led the defense."

 

Lord Uhtred’s jaw tightened under an untamed silver beard, but he said nothing. He turned and strode back toward the sea gate, his dark cloak billowing behind him. "The hall, now." 

 

My father lingered behind, his expression softening as he looked at us. "You did well," he said, his voice gentle. "But this will have consequences by the look of it. Be ready for them."

 

I nodded, my throat tight. "We will be father."

 

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "You’re every morsel my son, Osbert. And your grandfather’s grandson. I don't doubt you."

 

"Any word from Uhtred?" I asked, changing the topic and inquiring about my brother, and my father's first born son. There were a lot of Uhtred's, at least three, but my father recognized who I was referring to immediately.

 

"No, but the Lady Aelfwynn had last told me he was making great progress on the burhs on the northern border, and killing welsh raiders by the leaps and bounds. Now come, best not leave the old wolf waiting." He plucked my elbow and guided me toward the hall, with Cian, Rurik and Elaina not far behind.

 

The great hall was filled with the warriors of Bebbanburg, their faces grim. The smell of the burning hearth fire, stale ale, and searing fish filled my nostrils, but they were the smell of home. Uhtred the Elder sat in his high seat, his eyes blazing with a fire that could have been anger or excitement—even after all these years it was still hard to tell. Elaina stood before him, her head held high, while I stood at her side, my heart pounding in my chest. He stared at us, then quickly his eyes flicked to Rurik, who stood a few paces behind next to Cian.

 

"Boy, fetch ale." He said shortly, and Rurik nodded obedience and disappeared to his task.

 

"You’ve killed a prince, it would appear, or someone of similar import" Uhtred the Elder said, his voice echoing in the hall. I swallowed hard and he continued, "Do you understand what that means?"

 

"It means they’ll think twice before crossing us," Elaina said quickly, her voice confident and steady.

 

Lord Uhtred’s lips twitched upward in what I thought could have been the beginning of a grin, but his expression remained stern. "It means war. Constantine, the old lion, will not let this go unpunished."

 

I took notice that my grandfather called Constantine 'the old lion' but he must have been many years younger than Lord Uhtred himself. I glanced at Elaina and she shifted her weight from left to right idly.

 

"Then let them come," she said, her eyes grey but reflecting orange, lit by the rushlamps around the hall. "We’ll send them back in pieces."

 

Uhtred leaned back in his seat, his gaze sweeping over the assembled warriors. Resting both forearms down on the arm rests, he lifted his eyes to the  thatch roof as if there was suddenly something very interesting up there in the high rafters. It was a long moment before he continued. "You’ve done well," he said at last. "But now the game has changed. War will come."

 

There was the beginning of a cheer from the warriors, but the icey gaze in their lords eyes quieted them quickly. "Not a word of this escapes these walls. Elaina, you will get rid of that princely piece of gristle and make sure there is nothing for anyone to find."

 

"I'll feed him to the pigs, Lord." She replied, bowing her head.

 

"No." he replied curtly and pointed a thick old finger wayward toward where the sea would be if it wasn't obstructed by a wall of Bebbanburg's defeated enemy banners. "You will put him on the bottom of the ocean, tied to the biggest stone you can find, battle glory and all. I don't want a single piece of his gold taken, and no chance of it being recovered. We have plenty enough gold."

 

There was a small sigh of disappointment from the back of the hall where the Shewolf's crew sat with their ale, but it was brief. My grandfather was a generous lord, and if he told us to dump the plunder he would surely award the men other riches. Elaina nodded obedience and was waved away when Rurik returned with the ale.

 

Elaina started toward the exit to her task, reaching the halls doors just as they were pushed open to her surprise and she stepped back a few paces. Light entered the hall and illuminated the figure of a guardsman clad in mail, holding a spear, the image of a wolf upon his shield.

 

"Lord- a rider approaching the gates," he said loudly over the clatter of the hall.

 

The elderly Lord Uhtred pushed himself to his feet to look down at the man from the dais. "Who is it?"

 

"Looks like a priest, Lord."

 

Lord Uhtred let out an audible sigh and drove his eyes back to the damp thatch. He extended his arms upward to the gods. "Of course it's a priest. Just what this day needs. A little bit of the christ god to cheer everyone up." His words were light with sarcasm. He dismissed the guard to permit the entrance of the priest, and I saw him touch the hammer at his neck in a quick, nearly unnoticeable gesture.

 

I peered down from the doors of the great hall as both gates of Bebbanburg creaked open, and the priest stepped through the skull gate, his robes dusty from travel and the road. He was a thin man with a pinched face, a bulbous nose, dark hair, and a thick wooden cross hanging heavily around his neck. His large sunken eyes darted around the fortress, taking in the warriors, the banners, and the grim faces. He clutched a scroll in his hand, and raised it so the seal of King Aethelstan was clearly visible. He was escorted up past the skull gate, and through the second higher gate that led to the great hall.

 

As he was ushered in, Uhtred the Elder stood in the same place on the dais, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, like the calm before a storm. I couldn't help but think that Aethelstan had somehow already found out about the scottish prince's death, but that was impossible as it had only been mere hours and Wessex was weeks away by horse and roman road.

 

"Could a message have been sent by ship?" Cian whispered behind me and into the back of my neck driving the hairs upward, half from being startled by the sudden sound and half way because it was almost as if he read my thoughts. I didn't reply.

 

The priest was brought before the dias. He stopped before my grandfather and bowed his head, though there was a stiffness in his posture that spoke of pride rather than humility, and the two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.

 

"You’ve come a long way, priest," Uhtred said finally, his voice low and rough. "What does your Lord King want?"

 

The priest straightened, his chin lifting in a show of defiance. "I bear a summons from Aethelstan, Emperor of the britons," he emphasized the title, "...he requests your presence in Winchester." 

 

Uhtred’s lips twitched in a faint smile, but his eyes were cold and wide. "Requests, does he? Or demands?"

 

The priest hesitated, his confidence wavering under Lord Uhtred’s gaze. "The Emperor wishes to discuss matters of importance. He believes your counsel would be... valuable." He said the last word slowly, as if he was unsure of its meaning.

 

The old lord snorted, his disdain evident. "My counsel? Or my swords? Aethelstan knows where to find me if he needs either. Why send a priest to do a warrior’s work?"

 

The priest’s face flushed, maybe at my grandfather's tone, or maybe because he did not grant Aethelstan his proper title, but the holy man held his ground. "An Emperor's summons is not to be ignored and I suggest you heed it."

 

The Lord Uhtred stepped off the dais quickly, and closed the distance between the two of them rapidly. My breath caught in my throat. The old wolf's movements strong and relatively agile, his presence came to tower over the priest even at his late age. "I suggest you remember where you are, priest. This is Bebbanburg, not Winchester, not Leicester, Bebbanburg." He let that sit for a minute, and growled. "Here, you call me Lord, and you are a guest within these walls, upon these lands. Speak to me again with that tone, and you will achieve that glorious martyrdom today you revere so much."

 

The priest swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling. "I meant no offense," A pause as he inhaled some breath. "Lord. I am merely the messenger." Another pause. "Lord."

 

Uhtred grunted, stepping back. "Then deliver your message and be gone."

 

The priest handed over the scroll, his hands trembling slightly. My grandfather took it, inspecting Aethelstan's marking and then breaking the seal with a flick of his thumb. He scanned the contents, his expression darkening. "Aethelstan wants me in Winchester?" he said. It was formed as a question, but one he evidently didnt expect an answer to, as we already knew this was the purpose of the priests voyage. His voice lowered. "He says it’s urgent."

 

My father, who had been standing quietly to the right of his own father, stepped forward. "What does he want, Father?"

 

Lord Uhtred handed him the scroll. "Does not say. Read it yourself. It seems the king has found need of our hungry wolves once more."

 

The priest cringed noticeably at those words. He then was escorted out of the great hall by Elaina and Cian at my fathers request. I followed at a small distance, my curiosity getting the better of me. As they walked through the courtyard, I saw the priest’s eyes fall on the body of the Scottish prince, still lying in all his battle glory. The man’s fine mail and the lion crest on his shield were exposed now, and marked him as someone of prestige and note.

 

"Who is that?" the priest asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and unease.

 

Elaina glanced at the body, her expression unreadable. "Sure looks princely," she said simply.

 

The priest’s eyes widened. "A prince? What happened to him?"

 

Cian smirked, his tone casual. "Oi, he's just having a nap. Long voyage"

 

The priest looked between Elaina and Cian, then back to Elaina, his gaze lingering on her curved blades still dirty with blood. "You killed him?"

 

Elaina met his gaze, her eyes cold. "What if I did?"

 

The priest shook his head, his expression a mix of disapproval and fear. "Such violence... It is not the way of God."

 

Elaina’s lips curled in a faint smile as she plucked his elbow to keep him moving. "Then perhaps a God should have been there to stop me."

 

The priest opened his mouth to respond, then closed it as Cian cut him off. "Come on, priest. The gates are this way."

 

I paused as they walked away, and turned to see my father watching from the ramparts, his brow furrowed. He turned to my grandfather, said something to him, and I took a few backward paces to stay in earshot.

 

"Did you see that?" my father asked.

 

My grandfather nodded, his expression thoughtful. "The priest will carry tales of this back to Winchester. Aethelstan will hear of it soon enough."

 

My father frowned. "What do we do?"

 

My grandfather turned to him, his eyes sharp. "I am too old to travel south on a king's whim, so we send envoys to Winchester. They’ll answer the summons and see what Aethelstan wants. They travel with the priest and arrive...without him."

 

My father nodded, his expression grave, and he raised a hand toward the guards at the sea gate to stop them from allowing the priest to leave. "And what of my son? Should I recall him from Lady Aelfwynn’s household guard?"

 

My grandfather hesitated, his gaze drifting to the horizon that he fought his entire life to gaze upon from those ramparts. "No. Let him stay. Aelfwynn is a good woman, and he will learn much from her. The envoy will stop at her estate on the way. It’s in one of Aethelflaed’s old burhs—Tamworth, I think. They can check on him and deliver news from home."

 

My father nodded, his expression thoughtful. "As you say, Father, I will prepare to leave at first light."

 

"Uhtred," the old man began again, but he hesitated, and lowered his voice. I had to creep closer directly under the rampart where they stood to make out any of what was being said, and I did not catch the beginning. 

 

"What are you saying?" My father asked in a tone that was calm, but lilting with a small bit of alarm.

 

"I... will not be strong enough to defend these walls if Constantine brings his horde to them again. That...is your responsibility now. Osbert will go. Cian, Elaina. Not you. They are young- they need to learn in times of peace," there was a pause as he inhaled some of the salty air "...so they can act in time of war." My grandfathers lips formed into a thin forced smile, and he put a hand on the cheek of his son, patting it in a rare show of affection, and walking off toward his hall leaving no opportunity to object.