Saiva began to sing before Steinar could answer Ragned. She began softly, in a low voice, but the people by the fire heard her. So did Farin, bound with rope, and Eska, clutching the fresh tablet to her chest.
"The man who held an oar beside us shall not become someone else's property."
The people went still.
Ragned turned sharply towards Brand.
Saiva continued:
"The girl who found the water sign does not become plunder merely because she is a child. The share carved before we sailed remains her share, even if an old skald is afraid to acknowledge it on a new shore."
Farin raised his head.
Eska unclenched her teeth.
Steinar understood Saiva's design. She was giving the people words they could repeat at once. If even two lines were remembered, it would be harder to lead Farin and Eska away as someone else's property.
Brand understood too.
He walked slowly over to Saiva and reached for her lyre.
"You have no right to open a dispute."
Saiva did not stop.
"If that right falls silent when a living person is bound like a thing, there is no reason to heed it."
Brand drew his knife.
Steinar started forward, but this was exactly what Ragned had been waiting for. The spears moved closer to Farin's throat.
Saiva saw the knife and went on singing all the same.
Brand cut the first string.
The string gave a plaintive twang and hung loose.
Saiva flinched, but did not fall silent.
The second string snapped beside her finger and left a red line.
Brand cut the third with the same calm. His former apprentice's lyre fell silent.
"Your voice carries no weight in the old measure," he said.
Saiva looked him in the face.
"Then it is well that we are not in the old hall."
Rage took hold of Steinar. The easiest course was to challenge Ragned to a duel: brother against brother, sword against sword. Everyone would understand such an answer, and Brand would be sure to sing of a fine fight. For the sake of the duel they might release Farin and Eska, and Saiva would see that Steinar did not hide behind words.
Ragned waited.
He even removed his glove.
"Well?"
Steinar remembered Asmund at the edge of the shield line.
Even if Steinar won the duel, Brand would once again tell a tale of warriors, blood and a beautiful death. Farin and Eska would remain no more than the cause of the fight, and no one would hear their own words.
He lowered his hand from his knife.
Ragned laughed.
"The second time."
"Yes," Steinar said. "For the second time, I will not let you turn everything into a heroic duel and bury the truth beneath it."
The laughter grew louder.
One of Ragned's men spat at his feet.
Saiva looked at him with pain, but without yesterday's coldness. It was not forgiveness yet.
Then Modra stepped towards the fire.
In her hands she carried the cracked empty cup.
In the commotion, no one considered the old woman dangerous. Ketil had been carrying the cup: Brand did not want it among drawn weapons. Modra struck the merchant's knee with her stick. He dropped the cup, and the old wood split at the inner rim.
Brand went pale.
"You have broken the memory of the kin."
Modra raised a shard.
"No. I opened the place you passed over."
At the broken edge, beneath the dark grime of many years, a deep notch could be seen.
The very one Brand had not named.
Eska, held by one of the warriors, suddenly smiled through her fear.
The copy on her sleeve confirmed the notch the old skald had concealed.
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