Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

place in a pile of Jarl’s furs on the opposite side of the wagon. Nena grimaced, then looked away, refusing to acknowledge her. The day could not get any worse. Jarl’s security measures would deny her the escape she had desperately hoped for all week. And not only was she utterly humiliated at being loaded like some common piece of Jarl’s chattel, now she would also have to endure Altene.

The two men who had packed the tent climbed up onto the driver’s bench, and the wagon lurched forward. Creaking and bouncing, they fell into line with others from the camp, continuing their journey north. The pace was slow to accommodate the walking prisoners, among whom Nena was still sorely disappointed to not find herself. After hours of bumpy, silent travel through the unchanging plains, Nena stole a glance at Altene.

The Klarta woman stared out of the opposite side of the wagon, clearly no more happy with her traveling companion than Nena was. That Altene found her presence irritating made Nena feel somewhat better. A plan began to form in her mind. Perhaps Altene’s unwelcome company could be turned to opportunity. If Jarl could gain information from her about the Dor, why couldn’t she do the same about the Northmen?

“Where are we going?” Nena asked.

Altene looked at her without replying, then looked away again.

Perhaps she didn’t know. Nena tried something else. “I thought that the word Jarl was a title, like King or Chieftain, not a name. Did I learn this incorrectly?”

Altene gave her a long measuring look, then surprised Nena by answering. “No. You are correct. Normally it is a noble’s title, but for him, it is his given name.”

“How did you know Jarl would not force me to his furs?”

“Because everyone knows it.”

“But why?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because we are stuck on this wagon together.” Nena rattled the chain on the pole for emphasis. “Because we have nothing else to do, and perhaps it might speed the journey.”

Altene heaved a great sigh. “I suppose.” She thought for a moment. “Truly, I do not know why. Rumor has it his mother was raped in front of him when he was but a boy, too young to defend her—that she made him swear to be a better man than that.” She paused, then shrugged. “But you know how rumors are. The truth could be far removed.”

“Was it also the same with you then? Did he keep you a prisoner at first? And what changed to make you now serve him so willingly?” Nena asked.

Altene smiled and shook her head. “Jarl had only to ask to lie with me. No man before him ever did. I was a true prisoner for many years before that.”

“Why do you hate me?” Nena asked. “Do you think it’s somehow my fault, or the fault of the Teclan, that you spent your life a prisoner? The Teclan don’t take slaves. We’re not responsible for you being here.”

“And that probably lets you rest easy at night, doesn’t it?” Altene asked, her voice hard. “The Teclan don’t take slaves, so they are not responsible for what happens to a village after they attack. Did you know there are other tribes and bands of slavers who follow Teclan warriors like the great buzzard follows the lion? When the men are killed and a village is left decimated and defenseless by the Teclan, these others appear within days, stalking their wounded prey.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a village’s desperate attempts to flee—to find some place to hide or defend. But these men who follow the Teclan are skilled, and they hunt with no more mercy than if they were hunting a rabbit. Every man, woman, and child, regardless of age, is captured. For all those who survive, a buyer will be found, the price dependent on the individual’s abilities. Even the weakest and the youngest are capable of performing some menial task.

“Do I hate you?” Altene considered the question out loud, then nodded. “Yes, I do. Though I suppose it is a hatred born much of envy. I envy to be you—to have lived your whole life in privilege and without fear. Even now, if you were any other woman, you’d have been taken by half the Northmen camp, yet because you’re Teclan, you’ve been spared again.”

“Then release me. You want me gone—to have Jarl back to yourself. Now, during the move, in the chaos, I could find the child and escape with her.”

“You are a fool,” Altene said and looked away.

Nena waited for many minutes, then started a new line of questioning, sure that Altene would spite her with silence. “Where do they come from? How far north are their homelands?”

“I do not know exactly.” Altene surprised her by responding. “I believe the journey takes them months. To get here, they follow a maze of rivers from the far north and west through a wild land they call Rusland, far beyond where any Dor has ever ventured. In places they must carry their ships across land to the next river until they reach the last river they call the Volga. That river brings them here, to the Great Sea, though they call it the Caspian. I have heard them say it’s small compared to the seas of their homeland. Each time they come ashore in a different place and make a sweeping arch through these lands, acquiring treasure and slaves on the way. Their ships await them on the coast.”

The Great Sea. Nena had only beheld it one time. It was the year she had first become a warrior. The journey north to the sea was one her father insisted all Teclan warriors make at least once—to see the great body of water that held power to rival their mountain. Her father had accompanied the novice warriors that year to refresh ties with the Sea Tribe’s chief, whom his sister had married years before.

The Great Sea was beautiful, Nena recalled, but terrifying at the same time. She remembered wading