A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

“I knew of the way. I don’t get out as often as you do, remember.” Andras slid aside as a warrior with a spear staggered past him toward the keg. “The rumors might have… left out a few details.”

He had to raise his voice to be heard over the boisterous drumming that issued from an assembly gathered in one corner. Claire’s gaze was drawn to an older man at the center of the circle, drumming a skin basin as large as a table. He used his hands, sticks, whatever fell into his grasp, and had his head thrown back, lost to the howling rhythm. He was not the largest warrior in the hall, but the energy that poured from his sinewy arms drowned out practically every drummer around him.

Claire found herself frowning at the unnecessary exuberance. “Andras, you’ve been a dear mentor, but if your theoretical knowledge gets us killed, I will be withdrawing my professional acquaintance.”

“Understood, pup.”

“Who will your representative be for the trials?” Ragna finished conferring with another Norseman and turned back to them. “You should pick your finest warrior. Today’s battle master is Uther, wielder of the guardian maul named Widowbane.”

“I suppose we just missed the wielder of crumpets and tea.” Claire pursed her lips and looked to her companions. Wordlessly, all eyes slid to Hero and the sword on his back.

Hero jerked, pulling his thirsty gaze away from a line of silver goblets and possibly the lean warriors attached to them. “You can’t be serious.”

“You are kinda the only one with a weapon. Or any idea how to use one,” Brevity pointed out.

“Also, the only one with enough sense not to get anywhere near someone named Widowbane!”

“Actually, that’s the maul’s name,” Andras said. “Interesting human quirk, that—Norse only named their blades when—”

“Fascinating,” Hero snapped, reserving a glare for his companions before looking at Claire. “Surely you have a better plan than sacrificing me to the natives.”

“If you have ideas, I’m open to suggestions.” Claire was not happy about the way things were going, but she kept her face neutral. “We can’t continue until we prove ourselves, and we can’t leave until we’ve found Bjorn. You heard what’s at stake.”

Hero’s frown faded, and he held Claire’s gaze levelly, trading anger for a quiet that made her skin itch. He appeared contemplative. She found she rather preferred him sullen and angry. “And is that an order, Librarian?”

“Duels are honorable combat. They must be entered into voluntarily,” Ragna said.

If Claire couldn’t order Hero to satisfy the duel, that shot down any hope they had. Claire glanced around the hall, searching for a new plan. She racked her brain for Nordic culture, wondering what the reaction would be if she made a run for it and attempted to find Bjorn on her own. Corner and threaten him if she had to. There had to be protocols, protections. Surely they would have to respect the gravity of the…

“Fine.”

Hero stood stiff as the blade on his back, dark eyes glowering at Ragna. He’d managed to imbue an acid disdain into the one word. “As the only hero present, trials of honor fall to me. I’ll participate in your barbarian sport.” He grumbled, “Might enjoy hitting a few things, actually….”

Ragna, if she even noticed it, was immune to scorn. “You may choose your weapon.”

Hero gestured to the filigreed sword on his back. “Broadsword. Unless you have a rapier about.”

“Sword it is.” Ragna turned toward Claire. “And you, storyteller. What weapon?”

Claire choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are the leader of these… people.” Ragna motioned over the Library’s host with a broad hand. “Leaders do not allow their own to bleed alone.”

“Who said anything about bleeding?” Hero interjected unhappily.

“You must forgive me, Ragna.” Claire chose her words with care. “Arlid was right, outside. I am not a coward, but I am not a warrior either. I’m a librarian, a scholar—my only skill is with words. I’m afraid I would put on a very poor show for your hall.”

“Not so!” The voice that boomed from the pit brought all the music to an abrupt halt, which caught the attention of the rest of the hall. Talk ground to a murmur as a scrawny man, nearly as leathery as the wide drum in front of him, stood.

It was the same man Claire had seen earlier, hooting and drumming like a creature possessed. He leapt around the oversized drum and made his way out of the drum pit with a few pats and shoulder slaps for the warriors he passed. “I believe we’ll be in for a grand treat. And it’s been far too long since I stretched my jaw.”

Ragna’s hooded eyes lit up. She clasped the man’s arm. “You will do us the honor, storyteller?”

“Storyteller?” Claire gaped. “You’re Bjorn?”

“That’s what they say.” The man wiped a sweaty hand over his impressive beard. “I hear you’ve come from the Library.”

He did not look much like a proper librarian, but Claire was relieved. Perhaps they could yet avoid this foolish scene. “Yes. We have questions about—”

“How is the gargoyle?” Bjorn asked suddenly. “Still got that chip on the right wing?”

“Probably. I try not to look too closely.” Claire shared an exasperated glance with Andras. “It’s of the utmost importance that we speak—”

“And we’ll discuss much, Librarian. After our duel.”

“Not a warrior. No time.” Claire clipped her words to keep from being cut off a third time. She gripped her bag of books more tightly. She was familiar with the outlandish nature of Viking tales, but this trip was quickly spiraling out of her control.

“There’s always time for a story,” Bjorn said. “Surely you know your stories, Librarian. Let the best verse win.”

“But—”

“A battle and a tale! A treat,” Ragna crowed, clapping Claire on the back hard enough to send her forward a step. “To the ring!”

THE POLISHED OAK OF the staff seemed to glow in the thick warmth of the longhouse. It was a beautiful construction. Claire knew if she ran her fingers along it, she’d find joints of birch, yew, hawthorn, and the other sacred woods of the north. Her thumb worried at the gnarl of amber trapped in its tip.

The hall had reacted quickly to the prospect of a duel. Claire and Hero were evidently to fight simultaneously—a dual duel. The wordplay made Claire roll her eyes, but she had to admire the way the hall had quickly reorganized for the occasion. Bjorn had swept her away to the far end. The tables were pushed clear, revealing a hard-packed arena in the center of the lodge. She stopped her pacing at the side of the ring. “Librarians are not warriors or wizards. Is this really necessary?”

Bjorn rolled his shoulders as he selected a staff of his own. “Have some sense of showmanship, lass. We may be a rough lot to you, but we appreciate a good performance. You’ve dueled in our way before, yes?”