{"product_id":"lord-of-falcon-ridge-isbn-9780515115840","title":"Lord of Falcon Ridge","description":"\u003cb\u003e A classic Viking novel from the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Chessa, the princess of Ireland, is kidnapped, Cleve rescues her to hand her over to her rightful groom, William of Normandy. But Chessa refuses to marry anyone but Cleve.\"Adventure, love, and humor keep readers entertained.\" \u003cbr\u003e-\u003ci\u003eSCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eCatherine Coulter\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the FBI Thrillers featuring husband and wife team Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock. She is also the author—with J. T. Ellison—of the Brit in the FBI series. She lives in Sausalito, California.Malverne farmstead\u003cp\u003eVestfold, Norway\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA.D. 922\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCLEVE DREAMED THE dream the first time on the night\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof his daughter’s third natal day. It was in the middle of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe night in the deepest summer, and thus it never darkened\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto black until it was nearly dawn again. He was sleeping\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edeeply in that soft gray dark of the midnight summer when\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe dream came. He stood on a high, narrow cliff listening,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esniffing the warm, wet air. Below him was a raging waterfall\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eroiling through slick boulders only to narrow with the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etightening of the banks before it shot out over a lower cliff,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecrashing far below beyond where he could see. A light mist\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efell about him. It was suddenly so cold that he shivered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pulled his warm woolen cloak closer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll around him were thick stands of trees and bright\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epurple and yellow flowering plants that seemed to grow out\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof the rocks themselves. Boulders and large stones were\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003escattered among the low, scrubby brush. He followed the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esnaking path, making his way down through the narrow cut\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the foliage. A pony awaited him at the bottom: black as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enight with a white star on its forehead. It was blowing gently.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve knew the pony. Although it was small, it seemed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eright to him. He realized that just as he knew the pony, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew this land of crags and misting rain and air so soft and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esweet it made him want to weep.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was a single wolfskin on his pony’s back which he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknocked askew when he jumped onto its back. A moment\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elater, he was racing across a meadow that was filled with\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebright flowers, their sweet scent filling the air. The misting\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erain stopped and the sun came out. It was high overhead,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehot and bright. Soon he felt sweat bead on his forehead. The\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epony turned at the end of the meadow toward another trail\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat led eastward. He pulled the pony to a stop, turning it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eaway to the opposite direction. He felt sweat stinging his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeyes, wet his armpits. No, he didn’t want to go that way,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust thinking of it made his belly cramp with fear. No, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewanted to ride away, far away, never to have to see . . . see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhat? He sat atop the pony’s back shaking his head back\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand forth. No, never would he go back. But then he knew\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe would, knew he had no choice, and suddenly, he was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere, staring blankly at the huge wooden house with its sod\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand shingled roof. This was no simple home really, but a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efortress. He realized then that he heard nothing, absolutely\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enothing. There was so much silence, yet men and women\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewere working in the fields, carrying firewood, directing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echildren. A man with huge arms was lifting a sword above\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis head, testing its weight and balance. There was no\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elaughter, no arguments, just a deathly silence that filled the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eair itself and he knew that was the way it always was. Then\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe heard low voices coming from within the huge fortress.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t want to go in there. The voices became louder as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe immense wooden door opened. Through air that was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethick with smoke from the fire pit he could see men sharpening\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etheir axes, polishing their helmets. He could see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewomen weaving, sewing, and cooking. It all looked so normal,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyet he wanted to run from this place, but he couldn’t.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen he saw her standing there, her golden head bowed, so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmall she was, so defenseless, and he backed away, shaking\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis head, feeling a keening wail build up inside him. She’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003espun, dyed, and woven his woolen cloak for him and he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eclutched it to him as if by doing so he could clutch her and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esave her. A part of him seemed to know the danger she was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein; he also knew he was helpless to prevent what would\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehappen. He was outside the fortress now, but he could still\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehear the calm, low voice that was speaking from somewhere\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewithin. It was deadly, that voice, just as deadly as the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eman who possessed it. Soon he would be silent. Soon, all\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewould be silent, except for her. The low, deep voice murmured\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon until it was pierced by the woman’s scream. That\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas all it took; Cleve knew what had happened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe ran as fast as he could, looking frantically for the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epony, but the pony was no longer there. He heard a cry of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epain, then another and another. The cries grew louder and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elouder, filling him with such unutterable emptiness that he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaw nothing, became nothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe gasped, jerking upright in his box bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Papa.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe heard her soft voice before he could react, before he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecould pull himself away from the terror he couldn’t see, a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eterror that gnawed at him just the same. He knew, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Papa. I heard you cry out. Are you all right?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Aye,’’ he said finally, focusing on his daughter. Her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehair, as golden as his own, fell in tangles around her small\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eface. ‘‘ ’Twas a vicious dream, naught more, just a dream.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCome here, sweeting, and let me hug you.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe tried to believe it was just a dream, nothing more\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan a simple dream concocted out of the barley soup he’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeaten for the evening meal.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe lifted his daughter onto the box bed and pulled her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto his arms. He held her close to his heart, this small\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eperfect being whom he’d magically created. He tried not to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethink of her mother, Sarla, the woman he’d loved who had\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etried to kill him, particularly not so soon after that dream\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat still made his heart thud against his chest and made\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe sweat itch in his armpits.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKiri kissed his chin, curling her thin arms around his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eneck. She squeezed hard, then giggled, and that brought\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim fully back into himself. It had been nothing but a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estrange dream, nothing more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe said, ‘‘I kicked Harald today. He said I couldn’t use\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis sword. He said I was a girl and had enough to do without\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elearning to kill men. I told him he wasn’t a man, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas just a little boy. He got all red in the face and called\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme a name I know is bad, so I kicked him hard.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Do you remember what Harald called you?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe shook her head against his chest. He smiled down\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eat her though he felt more heartache than he wished to let\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon. He couldn’t protect her forever from the truth. Children\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheard the adults talking. Sometimes they spoke of that time\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso long ago and spoke of Sarla, then looked sideways at\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKiri, who looked nothing like her mother. No, Kiri was the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eimage of him. Were they trying to see Sarla in her? Aye,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof course they were.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hugged Kiri to him. He loved her so much he ached\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith it. This tiny scrap of his, so perfectly formed, a face\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso beautiful he knew someday men would lose their heads\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eat the mere sight of her. Yet from her earliest months Kiri\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad clutched at her father’s knife, not at the soft linenstuffed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edoll her Aunt Laren had made for her. It was he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho arranged the stuffed doll where Kiri slept so Laren’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efeelings wouldn’t be hurt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo his now sleeping daughter he whispered, ‘‘I dreamed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof a place that seems not so different from Norway, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edeep down I know it is. There was mist so soft you could\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebelieve it woven into cloth, all gray and light, and yellow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand purple flowers that were everywhere and I knew they\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewere everywhere, not just that place in my dream. It was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003every different from any place I have ever been in my life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was familiar to me. I recognized it. I knew more fear\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan I have in my life.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe stopped. He didn’t want to speak aloud of it. It scared\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim, he freely admitted it to himself. He hadn’t been himself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein that dream, but he had, and that, he couldn’t explain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe kissed his daughter’s hair, then settled her against him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe fell asleep near dawn, the lush scent of those strange\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eflowers hovering nearby, teasing the air in his small chamber.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMalverne farmstead\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVestfold, Norway\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNearly two years later\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Damnation, Cleve, I could have killed you. You’re just\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estanding there like a goat without a single thought in his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehead, ready to take an arrow through his heart and be the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eevening meal. What is wrong with you? Where the hell is\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyour knife? It should be aimed at my chest, you damned\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emadman.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve shook his head at Merrik Haraldsson, the man who\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad rescued him along with Laren and her small brother,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTaby, five years before in Kiev. Merrik was his best friend,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe man who’d taught him to fight, to be a Viking warrior,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe man who was now striding toward him, his bow at his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eside, anger radiating from him because he feared Cleve had\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enot learned his lessons well enough. It was an uncertain\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eworld. Danger could appear at any moment, even here at\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMalverne, Merrik’s farmstead, a magnificent home surrounded\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith mighty mountains and a fjord below that was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso blue it hurt the eyes when the sun shone directly upon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve waited. When Merrik was just an arm’s length\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom him, Cleve turned smoothly to his side, gracefully\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekicked out his foot, connecting with Merrik’s belly, no\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elower, for he didn’t want to send his friend into agony, then\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe leapt at him, his knee in his chest, knocking him backward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe landed on top of Merrik, straddling him, his knife\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epoised at his throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMerrik looked surprised. He said nothing. He brought his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknees against Cleve’s back, hard, knocking the breath from\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim, even as he jerked sideways, hitting upward with his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emighty arm, trying to throw Cleve to the ground beyond\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim. Cleve dug his knees into Merrik’s lean sides, closed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis eyes against the pain in his back, and held on. Were\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMerrik an enemy, he would be dead, the knife sliding clean\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand quickly through his neck, but this was naught but sport\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand there was more pain to be borne, more grunts and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecurses to turn the air a richer blue than it now was in late\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003espring, more breaths to explode into the warm afternoon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elight, before Merrik would allow him to declare victory, if\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat would indeed be the outcome. Merrik was a cunning\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebastard and Cleve still hadn’t learned all his tricks, even\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eafter five long years.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOleg shouted from behind them, ‘‘Enough, both of you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou’ll kill each other and then what will Laren do? I’ll tell\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou what. She’d take Merrik’s big sword and hit both your\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebutts with the broad side. Then she’d kiss Merrik until he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewanted to rut more than he wanted to fight.’’ He was laughing,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estanding over them now, hands on his hips. Oleg was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea big man, golden as most of the Vikings were, his eyes as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eblue as the summer sky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFinally, when Cleve lightened the pressure from Merrik’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethroat, Merrik splayed his hands upward in the dirt. ‘‘I am\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edefeated. Actually, I’m dead, truth be told. You and that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebloody knife, Cleve. You’ve gotten much too adroit with\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit. Then you’ve got the gall to toss it away and use your\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eelbows on me, a trick I taught you.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You were angry, Merrik. You’ve told me often enough\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat a man is a fool if he allows himself to be angered\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eduring a fight.’’ Cleve grinned down at him. ‘‘Actually, I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edon’t think you had a chance, angry or not.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMerrik cursed him, loud and long, until all three of them\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewere laughing and others had come to them and were telling\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esome of their own tales of cunning and guile.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve climbed off Merrik, then offered his hand to his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efriend. Merrik could have broken Cleve’s arm, could have\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethrown him six feet with a simple twist of his body, could\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehave brought him eye to eye and crushed the life from him,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut he’d claimed defeat, and thus the sport was done, at\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eleast for now. There was always another day to test each\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eother’s strength.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSuddenly, Merrik was as serious as he’d been when fever\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad come to Malverne the past spring and killed ten of their\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epeople. ‘‘Listen to me, Cleve. You can never relax vigilance,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou know that. There is always trouble somewhere,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand if you blink, the trouble can be right in front of you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRemember just weeks ago my cousin Lotti nearly died\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen a wild boar came into the barley fields? She was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elucky that Egill was nearby. You can never nap, my friend,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enever.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve remembered well enough and the memory still\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emade his blood run cold. Cleve adored Lotti, a woman who\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecouldn’t speak but who could communicate just as clearly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas those who did by moving her fingers. It was a language\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof her own creation but all the Malek people, her children,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand her husband, Egill, understood, and spoke thus to her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas well. Cleve himself had learned some words over the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epast five years but he doubted his fingers could ever be so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eadroit as Lotti’s or Egill’s.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I was thinking of a dream I had,’’ Cleve said. No\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esooner had he said this than he wished he’d kept his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emouth shut. Dreams were always important to Vikings,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeach one remembered was spoken about, argued over\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eendlessly, until all were satisfied that it posed no danger\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto any of them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘What dream?’’ Oleg said, handing each man a cup of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epure fjord water, so cold in late spring that it constricted\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘A dream that has come to me five times now.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Five nights in a row?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Nay, Oleg, five times over the past two years, it has\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecome unexpected. It has become fuller, richer, I suppose,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike one of Ileria’s tapestries, yet I still can’t grasp what it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emeans. But it means something, I know that it does. It’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003every frustrating.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Tell us,’’ Merrik said. ‘‘A dream that returns in fuller\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edetail could mean something very important, Cleve. It\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecould portend things to come, mayhap dangers of which we\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknow naught as of yet.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e ‘‘I cannot, Merrik. Not yet. Please, my friend, not yet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s not about here or about you. It’s about the past, the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003every distant past.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMerrik let it go. Cleve was as stubborn as Laren, Merrik’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ered-haired wife, particularly once he’d made up his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emind. As they walked down to the fjord to swim with a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehalf dozen of the men and boys, he changed the subject.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You leave tomorrow for Normandy and Rollo’s court.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou will tell Duke Rollo we will come to Rouen to visit\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eafter harvest.’’ He paused a moment, his face lighting with\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esuch affection that Cleve was glad Merrik’s sons weren’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere to see it. ‘‘Tell Taby I will teach him a new wrestling\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etrick. By all the gods, I miss him. He’s ten years old now,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea handsome lad, honest and loyal.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You couldn’t have kept him with you, Merrik. As\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRollo’s nephew, he belongs in Normandy.’’ Aye, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethought, Rollo had subjugated northern France so that the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrench king had been forced to grant him the title of the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efirst duke of Normandy and cede him all the land he already\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheld. It was important that Rollo’s hold never be weakened\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eelse the country would again be ravaged by marauding Viking\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eraiders.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I know, but it doesn’t make me miss him less.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I will tell him his brother-in-law misses him so much\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat he failed to thrash a former slave.’’ Cleve thought\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout that time five years before. Merrik had been trading\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein Kiev. He’d wanted to buy a slave for his mother, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad seen a small boy in the slave ring and been drawn to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim. He’d bought Taby and then rescued both Cleve and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLaren, Taby’s sister, from the merchant who’d brought her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMerrik had loved Taby more than any other human being,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esave his wife, Laren, even more than his own sons.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve waited until Merrik smiled at that, then continued.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I think Rollo wants to send me to Ireland to see King\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSitric, at least that’s what his messenger hinted at. Sitric\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas once a very old man near to death. Yet when we visited\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRouen last year, Rollo told me that Sitric is again a man\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein his prime. Magic was wrought by a foreign magician\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecalled Hormuze, who disappeared after he’d wrought this\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echange in the king. I can’t believe it, but most do. Odd, all\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof it. Do you know anything about this King Sitric, Merrik?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I? Know about Sitric? Nay, Cleve, not a thing. Not a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esingle thing.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleve knew Merrik was lying. He also knew he wouldn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eever find out why or what precisely he was lying about.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot unless he could find out from this King Sitric himself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eor if he could manage to find more guile than Merrik possessed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe doubted that would happen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Laren and I are pleased that you’ve become Rollo’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eemissary. You have a wily tongue and a quick mind, Cleve.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRollo is lucky and he knows it.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I could be an utter fool and Rollo would still reward\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme since he believes I saved his beloved Laren and Taby.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Rollo is fortunate,’’ Merrik said, and clapped Cleve on\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe back. ‘‘Since you aren’t a fool, he can make good use\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof you as well as reward you.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303083954405,"sku":"NP9780515115840","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780515115840.jpg?v=1767731750","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/lord-of-falcon-ridge-isbn-9780515115840","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}