Chapter 3
Einar was not the only prisoner beneath the old monastery.
Sten’s map showed ninety-six.
Freydis stared.
“Ninety-six?”
“Last count.”
“Last count when?”
“Three months.”
Nadia looked up from tending Elga’s bruised wrists.
“Why do all your numbers have months attached?”
Sten flinched.
Because he did not know.
That was the answer.
The empire he claimed to rule contained prisons whose populations were counted by someone else.
Varik.
Or men serving both.
Sten spread three maps across the long table.
Longhouse chamber.
Monastery.
River fort.
Quarry tunnels.
Four major sites.
Then smaller holding rooms in surrendered villages.
Freydis felt sick.
“How many total?”
“I said maybe nine hundred.”
“That was guess.”
“Yes.”
“Best guess.”
Sten looked at Nadia.
“Between eight hundred and eleven hundred.”
Silence.
Nadia closed her eyes.
More than entire villages.
“How many children?”
Sten did not know.
Freydis hit him.
Once.
Open hand.
Hard.
The hall froze.
Sten turned back slowly.
No anger.
Maybe he thought he deserved worse.
Freydis said:
“You counted swords more carefully.”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
No defense.
She wanted one so she could hate it.
Instead he gave agreement.
Nadia stepped between.
“Later.”
Freydis almost laughed despite rage.
“When did that become your word?”
“Tonight.”
Good.
Sten pointed to monastery.
“Varik has twelve guards there. My men four.”
“Your men?”
“They report to me.”
“Do they?”
He went quiet.
Good question.
“Names.”
He listed.
Captain Hjal.
Orren.
Sigurd.
Mila.
Freydis knew Hjal.
Had fought beside him.
Trusted him.
Which meant nothing tonight.
“What do they know about Einar?”
“Everything.”
“Why have they never told me?”
“Orders.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
There.
Direct guilt.
Freydis felt vision narrow.
Nadia said:
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Freydis glared.
Then did.
Sten continued:
“I told them Einar was a traitor whose existence could restart war.”
“Did you believe that?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“No.”
“Then why keep him?”
Sten looked toward victory banners.
“Because every year made release harder.”
Nadia nodded grimly.
“Same as every hidden prisoner.”
“Yes.”
One lie required next.
Freydis asked:
“Does Einar know I’m alive?”
Sten stared.
“What?”
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
That almost hurt worse.
“He knows I believed him dead.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask to see me?”
Sten looked away.
Freydis grabbed table.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Freydis.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
She laughed from pain.
Of course.
Nadia touched her shoulder.
Freydis did not pull away.
Sten said:
“He stopped asking after third year.”
That sentence found a place inside her sword could not reach.
She sat.
For one breath.
Two.
Then stood.
“We go now.”
Sten shook head.
“Varik expects me at midnight.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“You go.”
He stared.
Freydis continued.
“You board his ship.”
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
Nadia understood.
“Delay him.”
Sten looked between.
“If I board, he may arrest me.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t, monastery burns.”
“Yes.”
“He may burn it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Freydis leaned forward.
“For seven years, other people carried the risk for your empire.”
Sten went still.
“Tonight you carry some.”
No one in hall argued.
He looked around.
Then nodded.
“What do you need?”
“Monastery route.”
“Road obvious.”
“Secret route.”
Sten hesitated.
Nadia laughed.
“You still have instincts.”
He sighed.
“There is drainage tunnel from cliff side.”
“Guarded?”
“Not supposed to be known.”
“By whom?”
“Builders.”
“Prisoners?”
“Some.”
Freydis stared.
Sten corrected:
“They were paid workers at first.”
“At first.”
“Yes.”
Nadia rolled maps.
“I’ll go.”
Freydis turned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You are physician.”
“Exactly.”
“There may be fighting.”
“There are ninety-six prisoners.”
Freydis stopped.
Right.
“Ivar?”
Nadia looked at child sleeping near Marta.
“He stays here.”
“Safe?”
No one could promise.
Bryn volunteered to guard.
Elga said she would stay with longhouse prisoners and make sure no one quietly moved them again.
Good.
Visibility.
Freydis chose eight people.
Not twenty.
Small.
Two climbers.
Three fighters.
Nadia.
Freydis.
And Jor, a mason who had repaired monastery foundations years ago.
Sten left for harbor at eleventh bell.
No weapons beyond ceremonial knife.
Freydis watched him go.
He turned once.
“If I don’t return—”
She raised hand.
“Do not become noble tonight.”
His mouth tightened.
“I was going to give command to Bryn.”
“Still dramatic.”
“Fine.”
He walked away.
Nadia looked at Freydis.
“You love him?”
The question startled.
“As brother?”
“No.”
Freydis stared.
Nadia shrugged.
“Not relevant.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why ask?”
“Because anger has shapes.”
Freydis almost laughed.
“Physician.”
“Occupational curse.”
They left through the goat trail above fjord.
Snow had hardened.
Moonlight enough.
The monastery stood on a cliff north of village.
Once sacred.
Abandoned after fire twenty years earlier.
Sten rebuilt lower crypt secretly.
Or Varik did.
The drainage opening lay behind frozen waterfall.
Jor found iron grate.
Newer than stone.
Freydis touched weld.
“Varik.”
Jor nodded.
“Western ironwork.”
They cut pins.
Entered.
The tunnel smelled of salt and damp straw.
No guards.
Too easy.
Nadia said:
“I dislike.”
“So do I.”
They moved.
First chamber held food stores.
Second, chains.
Third—
Shoes.
Hundreds.
Freydis stopped.
Not current prisoners only.
Old.
Different sizes.
Children.
Nadia picked up tiny boot.
Put it down immediately.
No words.
Then knocking.
Again.
A pattern.
From wall.
Freydis smiled despite terror.
“They learned.”
Nadia knocked back.
Three.
Two.
Silence.
Then frantic response.
Jor found hidden door.
Opened.
Cells.
Rows.
People stared.
One man stood.
Tall despite thinness.
Hair gray at temples.
Scar through left eyebrow.
Freydis knew him before face fully entered light.
Her brother.
Einar.
Alive.
She stopped.
He stared.
Neither moved.
Seven years.
No speech survived that distance.
Einar looked at Nadia.
Then Freydis.
Finally:
“You took long enough.”
Freydis hit him.
Not hard.
Then hugged him.
He laughed once and broke.
Both did.
Nadia looked away.
Gave them privacy in public because that was the only kind available.
Einar held Freydis by shoulders.
“You’re real.”
“So are you.”
“Sten?”
“Complicated.”
His face hardened.
“He always was.”
Freydis wanted to defend.
Didn’t.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Others?”
“Some.”
Nadia moved immediately.
Medical triage.
Einar looked at her.
“Who?”
“Nadia.”
“Sten’s southern physician?”
“Not Sten’s.”
Nadia called without turning.
“Thank you.”
Einar smiled.
Then became serious.
“Varik?”
“Ship.”
“He came?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have less time.”
“How much?”
“Until he realizes ledger missing.”
Freydis stared.
“What ledger?”
Einar reached under straw pallet.
Removed oilskin packet.
Inside, thin leather book.
Payments.
Red Snow.
Village surrenders.
Guard wages.
Hostage transfers.
Varik’s seal.
Sten’s signatures.
Others.
Freydis’s heart pounded.
“You kept this.”
“Copied.”
“Original?”
“Varik archive.”
“Why not release?”
Einar laughed.
“From prison?”
Fair.
He continued.
“I gave pages to three guards over years.”
“What happened?”
“One disappeared. One returned page. One told Sten.”
Freydis looked away.
That was likely why Sten knew.
“Third?”
“Captain Hjal.”
Freydis froze.
One of Sten’s men at monastery.
“Where?”
Einar frowned.
“Guard station.”
“We saw nobody.”
His face changed.
“That is wrong.”
Alarm bell rang below.
One strike.
Einar swore.
“They left on purpose.”
“Trap?”
“No.”
He looked toward drainage tunnel.
“Evacuation.”
Nadia appeared.
“People can move, but twelve need carrying.”
Einar shook head.
“Not enough time.”
“For what?”
A deep boom rolled through stone.
Dust fell.
Jor went white.
“Foundation charge.”
Varik planned monastery burn as threat.
But fire was not enough.
They were destroying it.
Freydis looked at exit.
Another boom.
Drainage tunnel collapsed behind them.
Nadia whispered:
“So much for midnight.”
Varik had never intended wait.
Einar pointed deeper.
“Old burial stair.”
“Open?”
“Locked from outside.”
Jor said:
“Can break.”
Another blast.
People screamed.
Freydis climbed onto stone bench.
“Listen!”
Ninety-six frightened prisoners stared.
“We have one route.”
No promise of easy rescue.
“Those who can walk help those who cannot.”
Einar said:
“Burial stair leads cliff chapel.”
Freydis nodded.
“Move.”
They moved.
Nadia organized by mobility.
Not status.
Not village.
A Skarheim prisoner carried a Fjord captain who once raided his home.
Nobody discussed.
Survival first.
At burial gate, Jor hammered hinge.
Iron held.
Freydis looked at war tool in his hand.
Not ceremonial.
Useful.
He struck again.
Another explosion.
Ceiling cracked.
Einar joined with bar.
Gate moved.
One inch.
Nadia shouted from behind:
“Faster!”
Freydis grabbed.
Three people pulled.
Hinge broke.
Cold air.
Stairs.
Freedom.
They climbed into ruined chapel.
Snow.
Moon.
Then arrows.
One prisoner fell.
Freydis shoved everyone back.
Varik’s guards waited outside.
Not many.
Six.
Enough to kill people climbing one by one.
Einar looked at her.
“Other exit?”
“No.”
Nadia examined fallen prisoner.
“Alive.”
Good.
Freydis looked through broken window.
Guards positioned south.
They expected stair.
Not roof.
Jor pointed collapsed bell tower.
Rope still hanging.
Freydis smiled.
“Can people climb?”
“Some.”
“Enough.”
She split.
Strong climbers over rear wall, then circle guards.
Nadia stayed at stair with wounded.
Einar insisted on fighting.
Freydis refused.
He stared.
“Seven years and you still command me.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Then did opposite and followed fighters.
Family.
They attacked guards from behind while prisoners surged chapel front.
Two guards surrendered.
Three fled.
One fought and died.
No celebration.
The monastery groaned.
Lower crypt collapsed.
Freydis watched stone swallow cells.
If they had waited for midnight, ninety-six people would have disappeared.
Varik would call it fire.
Accident.
Maybe prisoner riot.
A story ready.
Nadia stood in snow with blood on sleeves.
“Count.”
They counted.
Ninety-six alive from cells.
One arrow wound.
Two broken bones during escape.
No one missing.
Einar looked at ruined monastery.
Then at Freydis.
“Sten went to Varik?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
“Then?”
Freydis held up ledger.
“He bought us time whether he meant to or not.”
Einar’s face hardened.
“Do not make him hero.”
“I’m not.”
Good.
They began descent.
Halfway to village, harbor sky turned orange.
A ship was burning.
Black sail.
Varik’s ship.
Freydis stopped.
Einar whispered:
“Whose fire?”
No one knew.
Then three riders came from south.
Bryn at front.
His face white.
Freydis ran.
“Sten?”
Bryn looked at burning ship.
“Alive.”
She exhaled.
“Where?”
“Missing.”
“What happened?”
“He boarded.”
“Yes.”
“Ten minutes later fighting.”
“Between?”
“No idea.”
“Varik?”
Bryn shook head.
“The king never came ashore.”
“Still aboard?”
“Not anymore.”
Freydis stared.
“What?”
Bryn pointed north across fjord.
A second black sail moved in darkness.
Small fast ship.
Leaving.
“Varik fled?”
“Or planned to.”
Bryn handed her an arrow recovered from dock.
Black feathers.
Western style.
A message tied.
Freydis opened.
STEN FOR Einar.
COME TO RAVEN ISLAND AT DAWN.
NO ARMY.
NO PRISONERS LEAVE FJORD UNTIL TRADE IS COMPLETE.
Einar laughed.
Cold.
“So.”
Freydis looked at brother.
After seven years, Varik finally admitted what Einar had always been.
May you like
Not prisoner.
Currency.
