The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men (12 page)

‘Does anyone else of you worthless, rotten, slime-sucking bugeyed dog fuckers—’ Skargrim nodded to himself. He’d seen this before. Like a seasoned skald she had seized the audience’s attention for maximum effect. The brief pause was punctuated with a fierce stamp on the prone man’s crotch. His scream was cut short by a gasp for air as he writhed in pain at Thora’s feet. ‘— want to complain?’ He looked round at the assembled warriors. Thora was neither muscular nor large, but she was quick, deadly with a knife, and Skargrim had never in his whole life met anyone more vicious.

As he watched, a whole work squad of hardened raiders took one look at the tiny woman standing over their fallen comrade with the shovel casually balanced on her shoulder and found a surprising enthusiasm for woodwork. Thora looked his way and grinned. Skargrim nodded his approval.

Sometimes life was less about grand, heroic gestures and more about picking the right people to stand beside you.

Down on the beach Ingi’s men were getting their ships stowed away next to the others, working quickly and efficiently.

Fifty-eight ships now.

He shielded his eyes and looked to sea. He could just make out a couple of tiny specks on the horizon.

Skargrim nodded. That would be Egill Jotunn, then.

EAST OF HARDANGER HEATH

‘What?’ Birkir growled.

Havar turned towards Jorn and threw down the saddle. ‘This smells of trickery! There’s something brewing! He knows!’

Runar’s eyes darted around, looking for hidden enemies around their tents. ‘A-a-are you sure ab-buh-bout this?’

‘Shut up, all of you. Start packing. We’re going,’ Jorn snapped.

Havar made to protest. ‘But last night you said—’

Jorn fixed the fat man with a cold look. ‘You know, Havar, for someone with your smarts you can be fairly stupid sometimes.’

Havar turned bright pink. ‘But you
said
—’

‘— and loud.’ There was steel in Jorn’s voice and he looked pointedly at the soldiers passing by. ‘So how about we talk about this at a later point? When we’re on our way, maybe? Hmm?’ Without thinking he adjusted the chain around his neck.

Runar placed his hand on Havar’s shoulder. ‘Makes s-s-s-sense, you know. We m-mustn’t l-lose our heads.’ Havar turned away and started packing his belongings, muttering all the while. Runar looked at Jorn and shrugged. ‘Eyes o-open … m-m-mouth shut?’

‘Eyes open and mouth shut,’ Jorn repeated and nodded. ‘Indeed.’

STENVIK

Harald sneered and spat. ‘So that’s how it is.’

Rays of evening sunlight caught dust motes circling the rafters in the longhouse. Sigurd sat in the high seat and looked wearily down on him.

‘Yes, Harald. That is how it is.’

‘So first you tell me we need to keep the peace, especially during market. And then you tell me to go and watch out for trouble. And then, when I decide to set an example so we don’t have drunken farmers stumbling all over town starting fights and groping women, it’s
my
fault?’

Standing at Sigurd’s shoulder, Sven crossed his arms over his chest. ‘You know the law, Harald.’

‘Oh don’t you start, you old turd. This stinks of your counsel.’

Sigurd inclined his head slightly and looked Harald straight in the eyes. ‘So, let me see if I understand what you’re saying.’ He held Harald’s gaze. ‘I am unfair, wrong
and
incapable of leading on my own,’ he said quietly. ‘Is this a challenge?’

Harald scowled and spat again.

‘Is it?’

Harald’s eyes drifted to the axe on the wall behind the dais. He took a deep breath. ‘No,’ he sneered as he stood up from the table. ‘I’m not stupid. It’s just that in my opinion maybe the old … laws … could stand to be … revised. I will go and see what I have in my house to’ – he swallowed hard – ‘settle the debt of honour.’ He turned and walked briskly to the exit.

When the dust had settled from the door slamming, Sven sat down on the dais next to Sigurd.

‘How long do you reckon that will hold?’

‘I don’t know. The only reason he didn’t challenge is that he still remembers what happened last time. I truly don’t know if I could best him now.’

‘He’s had time to get stronger and meaner. Some of the stories I’ve heard from the raids are not pretty, Sigurd. Not to mention the girl.’

A dismissive wave almost hid Sigurd’s expression. ‘What a man does in his house is his business.’

‘He’s a brute. Worse, he enjoys it.’

‘I didn’t see you complaining when you counted the loot from his last three raids.’

The two men eyed each other. Sven broke the silence. ‘There comes a time when you have to consider who goes with you on the boat.’

‘Well, I’d rather have him with me than against me.’ Sven smiled wanly. ‘I know, I know. He’s always barked, but his bite is getting worse. However, what I say stands. Two days to estimate the severity of the injuries and then I decide on compensation. Fenrir’s mouth stays shut, and I get to keep my arm.’

‘Then that’s how it is.’

Sigurd nodded. ‘That it is. For now.’

HARDANGER HEATH

Birkir had to shout to be heard over the wind and the hoof beats. ‘If you whip the horses like this, we’ll be walking tomorrow!’

Squinting against the wind, Jorn eased his hold on the reins and slowed down to a canter. Havar, Birkir and Runar eased alongside him.

‘I don’t want to be a pest,’ Havar began cautiously, ‘but you’ve been riding like death is on your heels. Birkir is right. You’re going to kill the horses. You can’t cross the heath like this. And why are we doing it, anyway?’

‘M-m-maybe now would be a good time to tell us what is g-going on?’ Runar ventured.

Jorn slowed the horse down to a walk and looked round. ‘Yes. Now would be a good time. We are going to Stenvik to talk to them for King Olav, help the villagers prepare for him and be his eyes and ears to make the army’s arrival easier.’ His voice betrayed no emotion but his eyes scanned his fellow travellers.

Birkir shook his head slowly. ‘Still makes no sense to me.’

‘Me either,’ Havar complained. ‘We hate King Olav. Don’t we?’

Runar looked thoughtfully at Jorn.

‘Th-th-that’s a big job.’

‘It is, Runar.’ A hint of a smile flashed across Jorn’s face. Runar noticed this and smiled back. Havar and Birkir looked on, confused.

‘A l-lot of things can go wr-wr-wrong on big jobs,’ Runar added.

Jorn put on a convincingly apologetic face. ‘Sadly, they can.’

Runar’s smile was positively angelic. ‘It is very’ – Runar nodded slowly to himself, taking his time to get the sentence out – ‘dangerous when things go wr-wrong for a whole army that is perhaps made up of people who don’t like each other very much.’

By now, the smiles had spread to Birkir and Havar’s faces. Jorn nodded sagely. ‘So what I propose we do, boys, is that we get to Stenvik as quick as we can, so that we can make absolutely sure that we’ve done our very best when the King arrives.’

Within moments they were all back at full gallop.

STENVIK

Harald could barely contain his fury. Thick, yellowing nails, broken and bitten, dug into calloused palms. Oft-broken and scabbed knuckles whitened, forearms tensed. He just needed an excuse. Any excuse and he’d take great pleasure in breaking someone’s face. His nostrils flared and a growl erupted from his throat. Muscles bunched in his arms and shoulders. He throbbed with the injustice of it all. How dare he? Sven, that old goat. And Sigurd. He’d just been following bloody orders. Make sure there are no fights in the market, Harald. Keep an eye out for the traders, Harald. He remembered it well. Of course the best way was to show once and for all who the biggest, meanest dog
was. Everyone knew that. It was stupid and unfair. He’d been betrayed. And now, on top of everything, he would have to pay them. Those snivelling little toad-faced pansies who had never tasted the blood on the air, mixed with the smell of charred wood and the music of the screams. Fucking earth-humpers who had never gone in at night, never felt the tingle before the fight, never felt the calm before the storm. Never snuffed out the light in someone’s eyes.

Images came to him. Starlight. Big, bearded men crouching in a longship, gliding silently up a river in green, lush land. Grinning to each other. Fastening axes to wrists with leather straps. Reinforcing shield holds. Checking mail shirts and helmets.

Praying silently to Thor, to Tyr. To Odin himself.

Muttering ‘Tonight I may die,’ but never believing it.

Feeling invincible.

Despite his mood Harald grinned to himself. On that boat, he knew the rules. He knew the game.

In Stenvik, he wasn’t so sure any more.

If only someone would give him an excuse right now.

He needed it. Either that or some of Valgard’s medicine. He needed something and he needed it now.

He turned and headed for home.

NORTH OF STENVIK

Sigmar gave himself to the movement.

The ground seemed to whip past him. Bushes turned to green blurs, trees smudged around the edges. His feet hardly touched the earth. Breathe in, three steps, breathe out, three steps. The rhythm took over and then his heart was beating to the rhythm
of his feet to the rhythm of the soil and he was alive, he was part of it, part of the rhythm of nature. He ran.

But anyone could run. Thorvald had taught them how to hunt. To watch. They could run through a forest at full speed and tell you afterwards how many trees they’d seen, how many bushes, where the deer tracks lay.

And now Sigmar was thinking, floating on the rhythm. Smelling, seeing, hearing. Working all his senses, searching for anything that would give Thorvald the information he wanted.

Sjoberg loomed up ahead. A sheer cliff rising some two hundred yards over the sea, it was the best point on their stretch of coast to scout the horizon.

The climb was steep and they were all sweating freely when they got to the top. They did as they had been taught and loosened up their muscles when they stopped, rubbing their thighs and shaking their legs. Only when that was done did they allow themselves two mouthfuls of water each, holding the precious liquid in their mouths for as long as they could. Too much water did nothing but slow you down and they had much ground to cover.

Sigmar snapped out an order. ‘Orn. Horizon. Any ships?’

Little blond, blue-eyed Orn, at twelve the youngest recruit to the scouts for a while, settled in and shielded his eyes from the sun. Aptly named after the eagle, the boy could see for miles. After a little while he turned to Sigmar. ‘There may be something out there but it is very far out. Could have been ships.’

‘Go back, find them, try to see where they’re headed.’

Orn went back to his post. Sigmar watched him frown in concentration. Time passed then he spoke again, voice cracking a little. ‘Out. Far out,’ he said without taking his eyes from the horizon. ‘If I were to guess, I’d say they’re raiders, heading out.
Must be out to sea. The only other place in that direction is Wyrmsey.’

‘Wyrmsey,’ Sigmar repeated and scratched his head. ‘Why would anyone want to go there?’

WYRMSEY

Skargrim sat on his rock and watched the last work being done on the planks. Thora walked towards him, all skin and bones and short, spiky black hair bristling every which way. She was a hard woman, Skargrim thought. There was nothing soft about her at all. He saw the nasty scar on her right cheek and smiled. One of her lovers had decided that it would be a good idea to assert his authority, show the bitch who was boss. He’d come out of it a lot worse than she did. She tilted her head back and looked up at him.

‘Now, captain, would I be right in assuming …’

Skargrim raised an eyebrow back at his helmswoman, unable to quite take the smile off his face.

‘… that you’d want these planks made into makeshift bridges …’

Skargrim’s grin widened.

‘… that could be used to cross the ditch … but would be real easy, like, to kick down into it?’

‘I always thought I did well when I picked you, Thora. You’re smarter than you look.’

‘For which we thank Loki. And you only picked me because Ari had that accident.’

‘Yes. That was unfortunate.’

‘He stumbled onto my blade, poor man.’

‘Nineteen times, if memory serves.’

‘Twenty-one. But who’s counting?’

Their conversation was cut short by three strangled, inhuman screams drifting over the sea. Thora shot Skargrim an unreadable look.

‘Best get the men moving on those planks, then.’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Skargrim answered.

On the horizon, five sails billowed. Five ships, glistening black and silver, sliced through the waves and towards Wyrmsey.

Skargrim sidled off the rock as Ingi stalked towards him. Ingi was a short and in later days rather hefty captain with a reputation for cautiousness. While this alone would have labelled him a contemptible coward, he consistently brought home much more loot than any other captain on his stretch of coast, and lost a crew member once in a blue moon. His fighters were well equipped, well trained, hard and disciplined. There was no more give in Ingi’s men than there was in Ingi himself. He had reached his fifties and become one of Norway’s wealthiest chieftains by making plans, sticking to them and seeing them through. And now he was livid.

He peered up at Skargrim.

‘You never told me he would be coming!’

‘Would you have come if I had?’

‘No! Of course not! Are you out of your tiny little mind, you oaf? Do you even know what you’ve bargained for? Do you even know what’s on those boats?’ Ingi stood on tiptoe to be able to scream up at Skargrim’s face rather than his chest.

Skargrim looked down at the man and considered his options. He couldn’t kill him on the spot, as much as he would like to. Some of his six hundred soldiers might take that the wrong way. And besides he rather liked Ingi and secretly admired his methods. There was something to be said for a commander who respected
the lives of his men and wouldn’t let stupid things like reputation or honour get in the way. And to be fair, he could see why Ingi would be spitting fire at him. Skargrim grinned. The screams still came in from the sea, although more muted now.