The elderly man inspected the former Valdari ship. Hróarr had wanted to keep it for one of his men, but Cenric was letting the village have it. The vessel was small, but sturdy and should help the villagers forget that they’d had to house and feed thirty mercenaries.
“We should have you home by nightfall, then,” Hróarr said.
“Good.” That was the best news Cenric had heard all week.
It had been four days and Cenric was more eager than ever to return home. He had work to do and, more than that, he missed his wife. He felt as if he owed her an apology, though he couldn’t have said what for.
“What’s this?” Hróarr cocked his head at a commotion near the edge of the village.
Cenric glanced up to see a figure scrambling along the beach, trying to dodge rocks from the shrieking villagers. Several stones struck the stranger, but he kept moving.
It appeared to be a man covered in mud, pale as a fish and his beard braids wet and stringy. He looked remarkably like a drowned rat.
“Lord!” the figure cried out in Valdari. “Lord!” Half-running, half-crawling, the figure scrambled low toward Hróarr. “Mercy, lord!”
The villagers converged, men, women, and children snatching up sticks and stones, ready to beat the stranger to death.
“Hold,” Cenric ordered, raising a hand. They ignored him the first time, so he stepped forward, raising his voice. “I saidhold!”
The people jumped at that, seeming to remember suddenly the corpses they had cleared from the beach this morning—and who was responsible. They glared at the stranger, but let him half-crawl to grovel before Hróarr.
Hróarr did not move closer, but he motioned for his men to allow the stranger to approach. “So, you survived, but your friends left you behind?” Hróarr shook his head. “I hate it when that happens.”
The stranger bowed, hands planted on the ground before him. “You are a Valdari lord.” It was not a question.
“Aye,” Hróarr answered. “But I’m fighting for Alderman Cenric, here. Took money to stop you and your friends, unfortunately.”
Throwing oneself on the mercy of the highest-ranking person present was a humiliating, if recognized practice. There was a chance at life, but there was also the risk of an ignominious death and even if mercy was given, a stain of shame.
“Take me back to Valdar with you, lord,” the stranger pleaded. “I just want to go home.”
Hróarr grunted. “Found out the raiding wasn’t to your liking? You should have thought of that before you came raiding.”
The stranger fumbled with something on his hand, holding up a metal object covered in mud. “I offer this, lord. You can have this, just take me home.”
Hróarr did not reach for the offered object, he was too clever for that, but one of his men stepped forward and collected it for him. Hróarr’s mercenary handed it to his lord.
Hróarr studied what appeared to be a finger ring. “We could just kill you and take this anyway,” he pointed out.
“Please, lord.”
Hróarr exhaled, sounding bored. “What do you say, alderman? Is it sufficient to buy this raider’s life?” He extended the ring to Cenric.
Cenric took it, a little surprised. None of the other raiders had much of value on them. There had been iron amulets and one or two silver arm rings, but aside from their bloody clothing—which the villagers had salvaged anyway—nothing worth looting.
This, on the other hand, was a gold finger ring set with a sizable ruby. The craftsmanship was impressive, and it had even been engraved inside the band. That wasn’t unusual. Many pieces this elaborate were commissioned as gifts with the name of their giver inscribed as a permanent reminder for the receiver.AEcaught Cenric’s eye. He looked closer.
PAEGA HAD ME MADE.
Cenric’s heart stuttered for a moment. He scrubbed at the dirty band, wondering if he’d read it wrong, but no. His first reaction was the hate he had started feeling at any mention of Brynn’s first husband. A moment later…how was this possible? What were the chances?
“Where did you get this ring?” Cenric demanded, spinning on the raider.
The man was already prostrate, but if possible, he sank lower. “I won it.”
“Won it how?” Cenric demanded. “Who gave it to you?”
“Cenric?” Hróarr cocked one eyebrow.
