Valknut

CHAPTER|17 In Enemy Territory

The day went by uneventfully. Everyone slowly tumbled in and out of the bathhouse – some washing, some bathing, and some preferring the harsher cleanse provided by steam. They all gathered around in the Great Hall when done and headed out for the mid-day meal together. Nothing out of the ordinary caught anyone’s attention. The land was dry and cold. Some trees were bare, some were rotting. No grass grew around the buildings. People were ordinary as well. Most looked like they hadn’t bathed in weeks. Dirt lined their faces. Their clothes weren’t fanciful in the least - simple stained tunics or smocks and woolen cloaks. 

Mayhap one odd passerby wished them, but the rest simply kept their eyes on the ground and went about their business. People in general looked sad, their cheeks sunken in, and faces pale. As with the shore, the scenery lacked the presence of children and women. Despite the ordinary, something about this village seemed off to Kieran and Olaf. 

As they trickled into the local longhall for their meal, they anxiously sought out Klaufi and his men. But none were to be seen. Quietly they began their meal, venison stew and stale bread. At the table, Kieran heard hushed whispers of Fergus’ approaching nuptials. No one said much though – as if the event were of no significance to the people. Kieran certainly found that bit odd. After all this was their lord’s wedding. And his wife would be their new mistress. Wouldn’t people be curious about her? Wonder if she were capable? Didn’t anyone like Fergus enough to be happy for him? Or hate him enough to be outraged by the event? All he caught were pitiful looks exchanged by the locals. 

When the meal was done, they walked about the village for a bit before returning to the Inn. Olaf and Kieran decided to speak in the privacy of Olaf’s chambers but not before informing Sverting that he was to find them the instant Klaufi returned. 

Olaf’s chambers were quite plain. The stone walls offered a gloomy look. The narrow window allowed for barely any sunlight to stream in. There were no tapestries on the walls. The fireplace had bare minimum logs. The bed itself was not particularly comfortable; sacks stuffed with old hay and a linen sheet thrown atop – no pillows, no fur lined blankets. No rugs on the floor. There were no bedside tables. Two tree trunks served as chairs before the fireplace. A lone half-way burnt candle graced the mantle. Irritated that his ale had not yet reached his room, Olaf suggested they try Kieran’s. A drink was desperately needed. 

Kieran’s chambers were identical to Olaf’s. Again, disappointment hit the two men. The lack of ale in the village was bothersome. Olaf volunteered to go hurl insults at the Inn owner about the issue. Sverting would certainly not hear the end of Olaf’s rant on the matter. Sure they weren’t allowed to drink themselves into oblivion, but this... this was too much. No one had said anything about complete abstinence. And damnit, Olaf liked his ale! 

Kieran busied himself with the crates in Olaf’s absence. An inventory of sorts would help pass the time. A minute or two later he heard shuffling. Figuring Olaf had returned, Kieran didn’t look up. When the silence dragged on, he glanced about the room. His eyes settled on nothing. 

No Olaf. 

The door, however, was open. Cautiously, Kieran retrieved his seax and made his way to the door.  For once Kieran thanked the room for being as bare as it was. With one glance he could see every little dim corner and took comfort in knowing there was no place for anything to hide in the shadows – no man, no mouse – nothing could hide from plain sight. But then who had opened the door? He was so sure Olaf had slammed it on his way out. And where did the shuffling come from? 

A quick look behind the door confirmed his thoughts – there was no one behind it either. Well, an exception could be made for the odd spider weaving an intricate cobweb. Kieran didn’t bother checking the hall. If someone had made the effort to come all the way to his door, they wouldn’t be hiding in the hallway would they? He slowly closed the door, locking it in place – just as an extra precaution. Inside however, he laughed at himself for being skittish. 

As the bolt snuck into place, a cold hard calloused hand wrapped itself around Kieran’s mouth and another grabbed at the seax in his hand. Fearing the worst, Kieran defended himself vigorously. His heart beat a thousand times faster. His breath became shallow and quick. In the following heated battle, he barely registered grabbing at the hand covering his mouth, elbowing his attacker in the mid-section and kicking back hoping to connect with the attacker’s leg. Muffled groans. Bull’s-eye, Kieran thought. That victory – no matter how small spurred him on. 

The repugnant smell from the attacker’s hand – a mix of stale ale, charred wood and something else he couldn’t quite register – made it harder for him to breathe. With every muscle in his body screaming for oxygen, he longed to free his mouth and gulp down large lungful’s of air. When the attacker refused to let go, Kieran started pushing the attacker backwards hoping to connect with a hard and unforgiving stone wall. Beads of sweat began collecting on his forehead with the strain of his efforts. The lack of air only making this seemingly simple enough task, so much harder. He fought the dizziness setting in as the attacker simply dug his heels into the ground and laughed. From the corner of his eye Kieran noticed someone trying to open the door. At first, relief flooded him. With his hands held captive by the attacker and no real weapon to help him, a second foe was most certainly unwelcome. 

When the door refused to budge, he heard Olaf thunder at him from beyond the door. Curses! Why had he locked the door! Not wanting to prolong finding that wall, Kieran pushed backwards harder. The pounding of his blood seemed to grow louder in his head with every passing second. When the attacker refused to budge, Kieran changed strategy. Just as the door splintered open and Olaf came tumbling in, Kieran fell to his knees, bent forward and hauled the attacker over his shoulder. A loud groan escaped the attacker as his back met the floor with a loud thud.

In an instant, Olaf sat astride the attacker, ready to bash his head into the ground where he lay. A loud rumbling laughter froze both men. 

A growling voice then spoke, “well well Connor taught ye well, but not enough”. 

Olaf hauled the attacker up and pulled down the black scarf that hid his face. “Stop,” Kieran said recognizing the man behind the scarf. Olaf watched with raised eyebrows as the two men began laughing loudly and proceeded to hug. Kieran turned from his attacker and introduced him to Olaf. 

“Meet Brian, an old friend of Sir Connor's” 

“'n' what business does he have making me spill my ale”, Olaf mumbled looking at the jug of ale and the two mugs he had dropped by the door before having shouldered his way through it. 

“How did you get in? Where were ye hiding?” Kieran asked Brian, still looking around the room. What did he miss the first time round? 

Brian walked towards the fireplace and gave the wall near it a harsh shove. It groaned slowly before giving way. As a cool stale air blew across the room, both Kieran’s and Olaf’s eyes opened wide. Hidden passages. In an old Inn? Their brows furrowed into unspoken questions as they looked at Brian. 

“There’s no time for long stories now my boy. We must speak of urgent matters quickly. I cannot be missed at the castle.”