And it was enough for Ros-Crana. For this moment. She hooked a stool out from an empty spot at T’hule’s table and crouched over it, sitting with careful attention being paid to the chieftain’s hands and to the closest of the Conarch warriors.
He relaxed. Slowly, and with a deliberate effort, retaking his seat to preside over the feast. A moment later he was laughing again, but with a forced cheer now, as he kept a watchful eye on Ros-Crana and those few others who had unsettled the table. She was careful not to stare too openly, and simply measured T’hule Chieftain’s darkening mood with quick glances and by the press of the silent knife.
Perhaps she would have let the entire subject drop then. Burying it, since she had extracted at least a small measure of honor from T’hule Chieftain. What more could she be expected to do for a man who was outcast from his own clan and kin? Allowing herself to be encouraged by the memory of Kern Wolf-Eye would not do well by her, or by her own clan. Especially as Kern was no longer around to stand in the way of any reprisal. Nor was he likely to return. The rogues were gone. And with them, possibly the only chance to unite in the face of the Vanir threat.
She should have offered Kern more support.
By Crom’s watchful eye, she would at least admit that to herself now.
Yet still, she would have let matters lie. If only Tahmat, the merchant, had been able to remain quiet as well.
“So this Kern Wolf-Eye I meet. He was also in large battle above Conarch?” Tahmat asked, his grasp of the Cimmerian tongue rough but usable.
Waiting to see how T’hule would answer, Ros-Crana speared a chunk of venison off the nearby platter. The crust of skin was blackened, cracking as she bit through, but the meat inside tender and red and warming. Mead, even slightly soured, was perfect for washing down the smoky taste.
“He came over the Pass of Blood with his outcast band,” T’hule finally said. “Stirring up the Vanir and taunting Grimnir to battle.”
“He helped lead a war host from Cruaidh across,” Ros-Crana added to the short shrift, speaking in short, tight sentences. “He fought a demon snow serpent. And slew a sorcerer. Sláine Longtooth seemed to think well of him for it.” A pause. “I know that my brother did.”
It was one of the few confidences from Narach she had left. She wondered if she spent it foolishly here.
“Why so?” Tahmat asked her directly.
“While we thought to weather the storm”—she glanced around the table—“all of us, Kern Wolf-Eye took the fight to our enemy. The Vanir—even some of the Ymirish, we believe—feared him. As they did not fear any clan.” Turning a scolding gaze across the table, she anticipated an outburst and held it off with a quick, “Not even your clan, T’hule Chieftain. From the front door of your lodge hall, I can look down the hill and count dozens of fired homes from the day when Grimnir fell.”
T’hule held his eating knife in a tight grip. His knuckles whitened with the strain. “Be very careful, Ros-Crana,” he warned her.
The menace in his voice was clear. And this time, she was having none of it. Ros-Crana shoved herself away from T’hule’s table, hard. Standing over her overturned stool, she glared back with a temper.
“Do not think to threaten me for speaking truth, Conarch.” She spat the name, as earlier one of the warriors at table had cursed the name of Vanir. “The lot of you, you know it, too, because none of you came to his aid against Grimnir. We were all content to let Conarch burn.” There were a great many startled looks, and accusing glares from T’hule and his nearby kin.
“Narach would not have come, nor Sláine Longtooth, if Kern had not shamed them into it. He did more with a handful of warriors than any of us had done with war hosts at our command. What does that say about us now?”
She was raging. She was speaking with her heart and not her head, as a chieftain must be careful not to do. As her brother had always warned. Narach had forever looked out for her, as a chieftain should temper his war leader. But now she was both. And she was finished with the threat always prickling at her back. She swiped the invisible blade away with a sidehand gesture, dismissing it and T’hule Chieftain at once.
The lodge hall had turned deadly silent. A few grousing voices rose from the far end of the long room, too drunk or too distant to hear what had happened. But for the most part, the clansfolk watched, and listened. And waited on the balls of their feet for some order from the various chieftains to call them to violence.
In this sudden calm, Ros-Crana lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Conarch, Callaughnan, and Cruaidhi took the field that day,” she reminded T’hule Chieftain, “and we were not enough. Grimnir very nearly destroyed us, and all of Cimmeria would have lain open to him then. That small band of outcasts made the difference. Kern Wolf-Eye made the difference, when he took Grimnir over the cliff with him.”