THIRTEEN

  The next morning, Rend looked perhaps a little better, Vidar thought as he surveyed his patient, with no beads of sweat running down Rend's face and no trembling as he slept. Checking the leg, its appearance had lost some of that gray tone, and a few of the spots were gone. Maybe, just maybe, it had worked.

  The dragon rider slept. This time, a slap did not seem warranted. Let the poor bastard sleep and regain some of his health, so Vidar could later extract information from him. So many questions rumbled around in his head, without any single one coming to the forefront. Just a gray mass of information he wanted. No, information he needed.

  In a brief flash of weakness, he considered trading Rend to the steward for a large chest of gold or some other favor. But he discarded the thought. The steward, and by extension Jarl, had proven themselves untrustworthy. Their word meant little, and it would, without a doubt, end with Vidar himself being accused of some crime.

  The feeling in his gut when he considered such a cursed exchange, told him he couldn't do it. You didn’t trade a person. You just didn’t.

  Erik was gone from his spot on the floor, but Alvarn was hard at work crafting runes to sell once the sun came up.

  “How is he doing?” Alvarn asked without looking up from the workbench.

  “Better, I think,” Vidar said. “I did something a little reckless.”

  “Sounds about right,” Alvarn replied.

  Vidar cleared his throat and spoke with more than a small measure of apprehension. “I might have transferred some of the dragon's essence from my heartwell into Rend’s.”

  “You transferred what from what?” Alvarn asked, with a look of bewilderment.

  “You know...” Vidar gestured in a circle over his chest. “Around your heart. A lot happened that night. I thought I told you."

  "You didn't tell me."

  "Oh."

  "Yes, oh."

  "Well," Vidar began, trying to find the right words. "I stole a whole lot of essence from that dragon just after it died and it went straight into the area around my heart, my heartwell. It filled up and formed a circle around my heart with essence that's sort of rainbow-colored. Do you like the name? Heartwell?"

  Alvarn swallowed hard, looking like he was on the verge of tears. “Did it work?”

  "Did what work?"

  "Transferring dragon's essence to the dragon rider."

  “Yes. I think so. I figured out that essence is carried in the blood, right?” Vidar said.

  Alvarn tilted his head. “Not exactly. But go on.”

  “I realized my injuries were healing faster than what should be possible. Almost... I thought maybe I had the dragon's essence to thank for that.”

  A thoughtful look took over Alvarn, and he nodded to himself. “Interesting. Continue.”

  “So,” Vidar said. “I gave him some. And I think it worked.”

  “Do you know how many recorded studies the rune scribes' guild has regarding the transfer of essence between humans?" Alvarn asked after a brief pause.

  “How many?”

  “Twelve, before they banned the subject from further study. Do you know why?”

  Vidar hazarded a guess. “Is it dangerous?”

  “Out of the twelve studies, only two managed a survival rate above twenty percent.”

  That statistic hung there between them for a moment before Alvarn spoke again. “The recklessness of your actions still surprises me. It's astounding. They're only overshadowed by your boundless knack for falling into new knowledge.”

  “Thanks? But maybe dragon’s essence is different,” Vidar suggested. “Did they try to move essence into the heartwell? Also, I used a styrka rune."

  “The styrka rune's rediscovery may revolutionize much of what we know about the applications of rune craft,” Alvarn said. “We’ll have to study it further. Study it a lot.”

  Vidar shrugged. “Sure. We should find some way to make money off it without having to share."

  Either Alvarn ignored him, or he chose not to acknowledge the reply. “Under strict and safe measures.”

  Vidar’s face fell. Then he thought of something, holding up his hand. “Do you want some? I think my heartwell filled up some while I slept.”

  “Do you mean to say the foreign essence regenerated on its own?”

  “I think so,” Vidar said.

  “Interesting,” Alvarn replied, his eyes calculating, like a thousand questions and hypotheses ran through his mind in that instant.

  “So, do you want some? It makes for much more powerful effects in runes.”

  “Maybe later,” Alvarn said. “And with-"

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  "Strict guidelines and blah blah blah,” Vidar interrupted, finishing Alvarn’s sentence.

  Removing his spectacles and polishing them with a small cloth, Alvarn shook his head with a bemused expression. “If you had stayed at the rune scribe’s guild, you might have turned out to be the greatest scholar in a thousand years. These discoveries and your application of them boggles the mind if you take a step back and think about it.”

  “Perhaps. But they wouldn’t have let me do anything,” Vidar said. “We’ll discover everything together instead, right?”

  Vidar reached out his hand, and Alvarn took it.

  "Together," they both said.

  "So, are you staying here to open the shop with me for the first time?

  Vidar let go of Alvarn's hand. "No, I think I've found a way to put this whole thieves' guild business behind us. That, and another task that needs doing, will take up most of the day."

  "Fair enough. I'll have Erik help me once he returns."

  "Where did the boy run off to?" Vidar asked.

  Alvarn returned to his work on the wooden disc with the runic symbol of sowilo imprinted on it. "He was interested in the attacks on the villages around Halmstadt and wanted to go around asking to see if he could learn more. Sent him off with some warmth runes to hand out to those in need."

  "Of course you did. Shouldn't you be making algiz runes? Those are going to be selling a lot more. People being able to buy protection like that will be worth a lot to them! With the dragon's essence, our runes will be the most powerful ones in all of Sveland. The world, even."

  "We'll see," Alvarn said.

  "Yes, you will see!"

  "Another thing," Alvarn said as Vidar made his way to the back door. "After closing today, we're going to repair one of the water treatment stations. With the influx of refugees, clean water is going to become an even bigger issue. Don't forget."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Fine," Vidar muttered. "Might be back late, though."

  "That's fine."

  "And don't let Rend run off if he wakes up!"

  As Vidar was leaving through the now open door, heading into the cold, Alvarn asked another question in a serene but threatening voice. "You wouldn't happen to know where my rune burner is, would you?"

  "No clue," Vidar promised with another grin before shutting the door behind him and locking it.

  Just to be safe, he inspected the algiz runes around the door and the lock to make sure they remained rejuvenated. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t been tampered with.

  It was time for the next action on his agenda. To complete it, he would need to return to the sea.

  The cold of morning proved a worthy adversary against the many sowilo runes struggling to keep warmth contained within the precious coat. Triggering the warmth rune with too wide an opening led to seared clothes and burned skin. Too narrow, and you were liable to freeze to death. A delicate balance made. Vidar's approach of the sea flanking the west side of Halmstadt made it all the more difficult. A constant, icy wind whipped around like a screaming banshee. The brave souls out on the streets near the many dockyards kept their heads down and their hats pulled as far down as they could go, perhaps for fear of the wind would steal off with their exposed ears.

  Vidar struggled against the elements, doing his utmost not to stare out at the vast expanse of water before him, as he descended the last, descending stretch of road leading northeast, to the docks. They were the same docks from where he emerged, climbing out ot the submerged hatch.

  Soon enough, the sound of waves sloshing up against not-so-dry land reached his ears. Even in the coldest of winters, the water never froze. He'd heard it had to do with how much it moved around, or something akin to that. Vidar cared little for the explanation. He just wanted away from the cold. Unfortunately, escape into a nice warm inn would be some time in the coming. Today, he'd have to endure much. In the end, though, the results would be worth it.

  Laughter, of all things, drifted on the wind toward him, coming from the docks. Just like last time, he goggled at the men carrying heavy boxes and barrels by themselves or in pairs. Their strength was impressive, yes, but that was not the reason for Vidar's utter lack of comprehension of the dennermen loading the largest ship in the dockyard. No, not the strength at all. It was their dress that perplexed him. Short pants. The crazy bastards wore short pants and short-sleeved shirts without coats, braving the elements in clothes fit for summer.

  Vidar raised a hand in greeting and half-shouted so his voice would cut through the wind without being carried away to some distant place.

  "Hey!"

  The closest sailor looked up from a neat pile of what looked like stacked pottery, only it was half-covered in snow. After looking Vidar up and down, he just raised one bushy eyebrow and a ridiculously muscled arm, covered in somewhat faded artwork inked into the skin, mimicking the greeting.

  Vidar approached and leaned forward a little too close for comfort. He still had to shout. Damn wind. "Do you understand me?!"

  "Aie, of curs I undaestend ju, leettle maen!"

  "What did you call me?"

  "Waed du ju waent den?"

  Vidar pointed. "I want that!"

  The dennerman sailor's eyes widened, then he doubled over laughing.

  "What's so funny!?"

  Regaining some of his faculties, the dennerman shouted something unintelligible to his fellow sailors, and they, too, set off laughing. One laughed so hard he dropped the crate he was carrying on his foot, and he somehow kept laughing while shouting in pain. Not speaking the language of these sailors was be an obstacle, but Vidar had little choice. These sailors had something unique to the dennermen, something the people of Sveland thought of with distaste, and with undertones of the unclean and obscene. Stigma.

  The dennermen, especially their sailors, had a fondness for tattoos, and they wore them with pride. Vidar wanted, no, he needed, tattoos. This would be his secret weapon. Never again would he be without a way to strike back. Never again would anyone disarm him.

  "I want tattoos!" he screamed, but they must've thought something in the tone of his voice amusing because they only laughed all the harder. Perhaps stomping his foot when he said it hadn't been the best decision.

  "Ju aer svenne, leetle maen!" the sailor laughed. "No tatovering faer ju!"

  Vidar dug for coins in the pockets of his coat, coming up with what little funds remained to him after purchasing the house. A few piece of silver. The sailor's eyes widened at the sight, and he licked his lips as he reached forward, almost as if on reflex.

  Vidar pulled his hands away after having flashed his riches. "I pay for tattoos," he said, enunciating each word so there would be no mistake. What he was after.

  The sailor looked thoughtful, then leaned in and wrapped his fingers around Vidar's arm before releasing him again. "Smael aerms ju haev. Smael tatovering. Ju sur?"

  Vidar grinned before pointing to his arm, then at another spot at his arm, then his other arm in several places, along with a host of other places on his body. "I want many small tattoos, tatoverings, whatever."

  "Ju come wid me nuw. Langskib is move aeftr sunnup."

  "Langskib?"

  The sailor pointed to the large boat.

  "Oh, the boat."

  That small comment didn't seem to sit right with the sailor, who shook his head violently. "Langskib!"

  Vidar raised his palms forward in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, fine! Longskiff it is."

  Walking down the wide pier, they passed the walkway where all the other sailors were entering with the cargo, continuing to a second, smaller entrance. What looked like some planks nailed together, with some ropes tied around them for steps, made for a perilous crossing over to the boat.

  There was enough of a gap between the planks to see the roiling water of the sea churning back and forth between the boat and the pier. When the wind whipped around them, Vidar feared they'd be thrown into that uninviting wetness. Luxuries such as handrails were not present. He wanted something to cling onto during the short trek, but he wouldn't stoop so low as to grab the dennerman sailor's hand. With their sojourn across completed, a small door waited for them. The dennerman pushed it open, ushering Vidar inside.