Dream of Me/Believe in Me

and yanked him across a wooden block that had suddenly appeared. In the space of a breath, Dragon took the ax Olaf proferred, swung it once, veryhigh, and brought it down. A head rolled across the hard-packed earth.
    The crowd gasped. Dragon didn't wait. He seized the second man and dispatched him just as quickly. Olaf finished the next two just as efficiently. That left the last, the one who had dared to insult Cymbra.
    Wolf took the bloody ax from Olaf. With it dangling from his hand, he walked over to the man and gestured at the block. “Kneel, and when you do, know that only the value I place on my Saxon wife sends you from this life speedily.”
    The man stumbled to obey. The ax cleaved the air once more, singing its blood song as it went. The earth drank of the red river thirstily.
    No one moved, no one spoke. There was only the wind from the sea and, borne on it, the distant cry of the hawk.

Chapter SIXTEEN

    O H, LOOK! HE'S YAWNING AGAIN. NADIA gazed at her son in delight surpassed only by his doting father's fascination. Oblivious to them both, and to the gently amused Cymbra, the baby produced a prodigious yawn, smacked his lips together, squeezed his eyes shut, and drifted off to sleep.
    “He's such a good baby,” his adoring mother said as she settled him into his cradle. “He knows just what to do and how to do it.”
    “He's nursing well then?” Cymbra asked. There seemed little doubt as to the answer, for the baby was already putting on weight, but she wanted to be sure Nadia wasn't having any problems.
    “Extremely well,” the proud mother assured her. “Why, you would think he was born knowing how to do it.”
    Cymbra decided against pointing out that he had been born knowing exactly that. The new parents' happiness was contagious. She lingered awhile longer, enjoying it, before taking her leave.
    Back out on the street, she found Olaf leaning against a wall, surveying the passing scene. He straightened, noddingto her cordially. Several days before—shortly after the executions—he had appointed himself her escort. At least, she thought he had.
    Given her husband's inclination to
arrange
things for her, she couldn't rule out Wolf's having had a hand in it. But Olaf really was the perfect choice for such duty, vastly superior to the armed cordon of warriors Wolf had previously insisted accompany her. The older man had confided to her that he liked feeling useful, something that didn't come easily for those past their prime.
    “Surely Lord Wolf values your wisdom and experience,” she had said when they spoke of the matter.
    “Aye, he does but he's rare in that. Generally, the old are only a burden to themselves and to everyone else as well.”
    “But that should not be so! The old should be treasured for what they can teach us about life. Without their knowledge, passed on to us, we would always be starting over.”
    “That's a way to think of it,” Olaf agreed. “But think of this, too. The northlands are harsh, unforgiving. Food and shelter can be hard to come by. For many, there is little enough without stretching it to provide for those who can no longer contribute.”
    She remembered that now as she glanced around the busy street and beyond it to the even busier port. Everywhere was the evidence of the wealth of Sciringesheal, wealth made possible by the power of its jarl. The houses were sturdy and well appointed, the shops well stocked. The people themselves were well dressed and amply fed. They carried themselves with confidence and pride.
    Beyond the streets, along the stone wharves, several ships rode at anchor. They had arrived so recently that cargo was still being unloaded. One in particular drew Cymbra's notice.
    It was different from the vessels of the northlands,being broader in the hull and double-masted. The sides were painted in alternating bands of vermilion and gold. Brightly colored flags trailed from the rigging. She craned her neck a little to get a better view and noticed the dark-skinned men moving between the deck and the wharf.
    “They've come a long way” she observed.
    Olaf followed her gaze and nodded. “That would be the Moor … Kareem ben something-or-other. Hails from Constantinople. He's an old friend of Wolf and Dragon's.”
    Excited by the prospect of meeting someone from so far away Cymbra did not tarry in the town but returned promptly to the stronghold. The gates were open and a steady stream of people hurried in and out. Some were bound