Free The Blood-Tainted Winter by T L Greylock

choice. If your father was murdered, would you not want the same?”
    “I have never known my father,” Vakre said, “but if I did, yes, I imagine I would feel as you do.”
    “Is it safe to stay here?” Siv asked.
    “No. But I will not leave, not yet. I have enough men that I will not be easily brought down, but I do expect trouble. I will triple the guard on the tents.”
    He relayed these orders to his captains upon reaching the tents and then retired into his own. To his surprise, Eira was waiting within. She looked him over as he removed his cloak and weapons.
    “There is blood on you,” she said, touching his cheek. “But not yours.”
    “I have killed one of the men responsible for my father’s death.” Raef dipped a cloth in a wash bowl and began to wipe Jarl’s blood from his hands, neck, and face.
    “Let me.” Eira took the cloth from him. Raef allowed himself to close his eyes and inhale deeply. “You are unsettled.”
    “Jarl will not go to Valhalla. I made sure of that and I believe it was the right thing to do.” He stopped her hand and brought it to his lips. “But I never thought I would do that to any man.” He pulled her close and breathed into her hair. “I wonder what my father would think.”
    Eira ran her hands through Raef’s hair. “Our swords are yours if you have need of them.”
    Raef kissed her and they sank down onto the furs that covered the earthen floor.

Eight
    R aef awoke before dawn, groggy but aware of a stone in his back. He shifted carefully to remove it without waking Eira, who slept tucked against him, her dark hair spilling over her face and onto his chest. What drew her to him, he could not say, he only knew he wanted her.
    He closed his eyes, but just as he felt sleep return, a faint cry reached him. Once, twice, and the third time he knew what it was.
    “Fire!”
    Shaking Eira awake, he jumped to his feet and ran to the tent flap, pulling on boots as he went. At first, he could not tell where the fire was, other than that it was not among his own tents. Then he saw the smoke rising from deep within the tent city. Others were emerging now and Thorald, the captain, ran to Raef’s side.
    The captain gave Raef a questioning look. Raef nodded. “Help them,” he said. His own quarrel aside, the fire was a danger to all and the wind would help it spread. “But see that ours are not left unguarded.” Thorald nodded and began to organize the men. Raef returned to his tent to tell Eira what was happening, then he, too, went to help.
    Whose tents were aflame, he could not tell, but the damage was already vast. The river was close, though, and there were already many chains of men and women passing buckets and pots to and from the river by the time Raef arrived. He joined the shortest line, only vaguely aware that the men around him were nearly all Brandulf Hammerling’s.
    The chains worked from the outside, preventing the fire from spreading, and gradually beat back the flames to a contained circle. The danger was past and the rest would be allowed to burn itself out under watch. Raef went to the river to splash water on himself and found Thorald there.
    “Whose tents?” he asked.
    “Mostly those of Solheim, lord.”
    “A campfire left alone?”
    Thorald looked uneasy. “It spread too fast for a single fire. It had to have been set, and in more than one place.”
    Raef had suspected as much, but Thorald’s speculation was still unwelcome to his ears. “See that none of our men have been harmed.” Other than singed arm hair, Raef himself was unscathed.
    “Raef,” said a voice behind him. Raef turned and was relieved to see Vakre, sweaty and grimy, but no worse. “The lords are meeting, now, in the Great-Belly’s hall. I thought you should know.” Raef nodded his thanks and set off for the hall, bare-chested and unarmed. He had not been asked to come, yet as a lord it was his right, and it was dishonorable of them to exclude him.
    The hall was deeply