“That is a good thing,” Erik replied. “The matter I wish to discuss is a sensitive one.”
“I am listening.”
“Do you remember that our village of Myrkvior Fjall was destroyed by Taft and his band of thugs?” Erik asked.
Jerrik nodded. “Halvar told me. It was a terrible thing.”
“I was with the band of young men that went to fetch Halvar from Merilant, where he spent the winter as the guardians of young Eira and Kaarina,” Erik said. “We arrived just hours after Taft’s evil work against our village.”
“Are you certain it was Taft?” Jerrik asked.
Erik nodded. “Halvar left Canute in charge while he was gone. Taft personally attacked Canute and tried to get information from him regarding Kaarina’s whereabouts. Canute simply did not know because Halvar had never told him. So Taft gave up and let him go, but not before many of our people had been killed and the village destroyed by fire.” Erik’s eyes took on a haunted look at the memory. “By the time we arrived, it was too late. Had we been there the day before, perhaps we could have prevented it.”
“Or there might have been a lot more bloodshed,” Jerrik said wisely.
“Taft attacked at sunrise, it is true,” Erik said. “The village was totally unprepared.”
“Why did he attack?” asked Jerrik.
“He had a grudge against Halvar,” Erik replied.
“Did anyone know where he went after the attack?”
Erik shook his head. “We were all too focused on survival to worry about getting justice. There were so many dead and injured that we had to concentrate all our resources and energy on burying the dead and caring for the wounded. It took several months of living in the barns that were spared before we were able to travel to Merilant. By then, the injured had all died or recovered.”
“This is a terrible tale you tell,” Jerrik said. “Halvar only mentioned it briefly. I did not know all the details.”
“After we reached Merilant, we were focused on rebuilding. We had to build a new village, establish new farms, and get our lives in order again. There was no time to hunt down Taft and bring him to justice.”
“And now?”
“I saw Taft at the markets on my last journey. He disappeared into the crowd before I had the chance to detain him. As the markets are held on your lands, it is reasonable to suppose that he might be living in your lands also, far away from the scene of his crime and a very long way from where Halvar is living now. He has escaped punishment entirely.”
“Hmmm,” said Jerrik, stroking his short, fair beard. His sharp blue eyes were thoughtful. “I will ask my men to keep watch for him. I believe your story, Erik. Halvar has told me much the same thing. There are plenty of witnesses who can verify that it was Taft who destroyed your village. If we find him, he will face the penalties imposed by the laws of our land.”
“Thank you, Jerrik,” Erik replied. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
“I cannot promise that we will find him,” Jerrik cautioned. “But if we do, we will certainly take action.”
Erik was watchful as he drew near the markets. People were coming and going with goods to buy and sell, animals bellowed, and children’s screams and squeals added to the cacophony. It sounded and smelt like every other market Erik had been to, but it wasn’t the sights and smells that made him wary. He was certain that this was Taft’s home turf and he didn’t want to risk a confrontation by accidentally cornering the man. Taft had already proven to be a dangerous enemy and who knew what he would do if he felt trapped by someone who would recognize him. He would do whatever it took to escape from being held accountable for his violent past.
Suddenly, an ear-splitting scream rent through the usual sounds of market chaos. Erik pulled the horses to a stop, looking for the cause of the commotion. The crowd parted on the road ahead of him and he could see a pair of slave traders approaching. In his wake trailed a chain of captives, tied together with rope. Erik saw them stumble and one almost fell.
A tall woman seemed to be having a panic attack. She threw herself against the rope, screaming and wailing and lashing out. The slaver’s servant hit her over the head with a stick and she screamed again, this time from pain. Erik felt an unexpected stab of pity; slaves were usually of no concern to him but this one was clearly distraught as the traders tried to get the unruly line moving again towards the slave markets. The slave auctions would begin in the morning and the traders no doubt wanted to get the slaves settled into their cells for the night.
As the line began moving towards him, a bright halo of red hair caught his eye. The slim young woman beneath it was doing her best to remain upright and not cause trouble, but the rope jerked on her slender wrists, chafing them red.
Then inexplicably, she looked at Erik. As their eyes met, he felt a jolt like a lightning bolt sear through his veins. Her eyes were incredible, green and luminously beautiful. But they were haunted; pain, resignation and sorrow mingled with a calm dignity that her circumstances could not take from her. Erik’s breath caught in his throat and he opened his mouth to speak to her as the line passed by. But the moment was gone, lost as the maddened slave screamed and lunged on the rope again. The girl with the red hair stumbled and almost fell, the rope cutting cruelly into her wrist. Erik wanted
