The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men (3 page)

‘A cart broke in the south gate and a farmer fell and hit his head. He’s not moving and everybody’s angry.’

Valgard kept his eyes trained on the workbench. In his hand was a short but very sharp knife, on a small slate of stone in front of him a handful of black berries. He had just pierced the skin of a berry and was pressing it into a bowl, counting the drops. Sensing the boy was still hovering in the doorway, he sighed.

‘I’ll be there in a moment.’

‘I’ll go tell!’ the boy shouted as he sprinted off.

Valgard listened to the tread of the boy’s feet fading into the sounds of the town. It had been a good morning so far. He was nearly done with the juice for the mixture. Just two more … His knife hand began to shake. Valgard clenched his teeth and hissed: ‘No. No, you don’t. No.’ He forced himself to breathe as he’d learned. Slow. Slow everything down. He watched as the spasms in the hand died away till at last it was still and steady.

He cut twice more into the berry, collecting the juices into the bowl with practised ease and stowing the berries in a box. Then he took a satchel near the doorway and made to leave, but paused
and reached for another small bag that sat on the far right of the workbench, grabbed it and left the house.

Behind him, a drop of black juice dripped from the knife point onto the bench.

It didn’t take Valgard long to find his patient. The cart driver was powerfully built, thick-limbed and out cold. He came to with a shriek and a moan as the cold water hit him in the face.

‘You just banged your head. It’s going to hurt for a while. Chew this when it does. Try not to move too much for a couple of days.’ Valgard pulled something that looked like a sliver of wood out of his bag. The driver eyed it and frowned. ‘Don’t be a fool. Take it. It’s just willow bark. Not too much at a time and you’ll be fine in a week,’ Valgard said gently.

Accepting the bark with reluctance, the driver looked at Valgard, the satchel and the empty water bucket at his feet. He blinked rapidly and his mouth moved, but no words came out.

‘Don’t worry,’ Valgard assured him. ‘You drive carts; I patch you up when you fall on your head.’ He stood up and headed back to his house, leaving the driver to look in confusion at a single wheel on a broken axle and wonder where the rest of his cart was.

*

‘If I ever have a son, I will send him out with gold enough to afford better lodgings than these.’ Ulfar ducked under the rickety doorframe and stepped into the street outside. The dockhand’s shack looked considerably worse in daylight than it had under the stars last night. ‘In fact, I think we might be sleeping in somebody’s outhouse. Indeed, if I ever have a son, I’ll buy him better lodgings, better—’

‘— clothes, prettier wenches, better food, finer wine and a golden chariot to cart your lily arse between silk pillows,’ Geiri
finished as he emerged from the doorway behind the tall young noble.

Ulfar flashed him a winning smile. ‘Are we a little bit prickly today, my brother?’

Geiri shot him an annoyed glance. ‘Be quiet if you value your teeth, you traitor. And our fathers may share the same mother, but that does not make me your brother.’

Ulfar threw up his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. ‘Am I not your brother in arms, in travel and in song?’ he said, eyes glinting with poorly hidden amusement.

‘Not after last night you’re not. I’ve a mind to dump you back home and have them collect their debt of honour like they’d planned.’

Ulfar dismissed Geiri with a wave. ‘Forget it. I was bored. It was just one kiss. And you didn’t miss much. She smelled of sheep. Now, do you know your way around this town?’

‘Of course I don’t. Have you been to bloody Stenvik much?’ Geiri shot back. ‘Here’s what I know. It’s the only sizeable town this far west. Most defensible outpost on the west coast, apparently. Done. That’s all. Nobody should ever need to come here and the sooner we’re out the better. It’s an outpost and nothing more.’

‘Geiri, Geiri, Geiri. We must control ourselves.’ Ulfar subtly changed stance, aping someone much older as he beckoned for his travelling companion to follow him down the street towards the harbour. ‘You have been sent …’ he began, sounding remarkably like a pompous middle-aged chieftain. Geiri could not help but smirk. ‘You have been sent out into the world to see the sights, meet the men of note and let them know who you are. As a young man who will inherit the world’ – Ulfar’s sweeping gesture took in three wattle huts, a dirty screaming child running
after a dog and a man pissing in the street – ‘it is your solemn duty to get to know other and lesser peoples, find out what they eat, what they use, what they need and what they sell. Stenvik has become an important hub for trading and raiding. It may not look like anything, but there is much to be gained by connecting to their chieftain. Sigurd Aegisson. Man of reputation. Trade connections. Think forward, son.’ At the end of his speech, Ulfar nodded sagely, blinked at Geiri and grunted, breathing loudly through his nose.

‘I’ve said it before and I say it again – I hope you’ve never imitated my father to his face,’ Geiri said with a smile.

‘No. Never,’ Ulfar said gravely. ‘I have, however, done so to your milkmaid Hilda on occasion.’ He winked at Geiri.

‘What? And you never told me?’ his cousin exclaimed. Ulfar shrugged and tried his best to look innocent. ‘It doesn’t really matter, though …’ Geiri added. ‘I seem to remember her telling me that your impressions had made’ – Geiri made a suggestive hand gesture – ‘little impression on her.’

Ulfar considered this then nodded. He’d have to give him this one. ‘Well countered, Geiri. I’ll make a man of you yet.’

‘You always have to win, don’t you?’

‘Always, Geiri. Always.’

‘Well, maybe if you’d not needed to win the fight with Karle you wouldn’t have had to come here.’

‘It was an accident, I keep telling you,’ Ulfar snapped. ‘Not my fault he turned out to be the Queen’s cousin.’

‘His arm broke just as much,’ Geiri replied, enjoying himself.

‘Well he didn’t die. More’s the pity. And his arm has healed now and I’m still out in the middle of nowhere playing nursemaid to clueless royalty,’ Ulfar said.

‘Shut up or I’ll treat you like you deserve.’

‘Much like a bleating ewe, you simply don’t have the balls.’

The insults were comfortable and well-worn by now; something to pass the time. Their walk had brought them back down to the harbour. Behind them lay a town of hastily pitched tents, woven huts and frail wooden shacks. The old, run-down longhouse where they’d been drinking last night was visible over the tops of the houses. Ulfar’s head pounded with the memory. This was what their dockhand guide had called the old town.

‘Right then, Ulfar the Conqueror. Work your winning magic. Find us the way to the chieftain of this important hub of fish smell, street piss—’

‘Will you cease your endless complaining,’ Ulfar shot back as he scanned the area. ‘I’ll figure this out. We’ll ask someone. Find a nice fish-girl … or three …’

She caught his eye because she seemed to be the only person in the square who wasn’t moving. In fact it was almost unnerving how completely still she was. She just stood there, looking out to sea. Ulfar smiled to himself. She looked ripe for the picking.

‘Now, young Geiri.’

‘I’m three months older than you.’

‘Yet you never act like it. Now, young Geiri, I gather you had some trouble with the women last night. Watch and learn.’ Ulfar shot a meaningful glance towards the woman standing on the pier.

Geiri followed his gaze and frowned. ‘That one? She’s clearly waiting for a boat to come in. She’s not going to—’

‘Quiet, Geiri. Just watch the master.’

Ulfar ignored the bustle of the square. Instead he homed in on the girl. She did seem almost unnaturally still, though. As he sauntered towards her he wondered where the conversation would flow. Usually he was good at reading from their initial
reactions what they wanted to hear, whether they wanted to be pushed or led, tempted or turned. He knew Geiri was staring daggers at his back and probably hoping he’d trip or something of the sort. Well, let him. Ulfar would never have Geiri’s wealth or honour, but the girls loved him better. Always had, always would.

Only a few steps now.

He planned his route, drifting towards her and stealing a glimpse. She was very pale but he liked that. Must mean she stayed a fair bit indoors, which was strange for this kind of town. Maybe she was a craftswoman. The red hair was nice. Looked a bit Celtic. He’d been with a slave girl a couple of months back somewhere on the mainland – hadn’t understood a word she said, but they’d got on well enough.

The memory made him smile.

He’d let himself accidentally happen to be near her now. Time for playing the lost traveller. In a smooth motion he turned towards the red-headed girl and put on a winning smile. ‘Hello. I’m wondering if you could tell me …’ And the words died in his throat. It was as if he didn’t exist to her. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Instead she just stared at the sea. A spark shot up and down his spine. A challenge! He’d not had this before. The eyes. The eyes! Catch the eyes. He redoubled the charm, cleared his throat and moved so he was between her and the horizon.

‘Hello!’ He smiled. ‘I just arrived in town and was …’

Slowly, as if waking from a dream, she seemed to register him and realize that he was there. She looked him in the eyes and Ulfar felt like he’d been struck.

‘I’m … I’m … I’ve … We’re …’ he stammered, blushed and turned away. Furious heat burned his face. What? What just
happened? His feet decided for him and walked him away from the pier, back towards his cousin.

Geiri looked him up and down. ‘So? Was it incredible? Did she laugh? Did she cry? Did she beg to bear your children?’ Ulfar found he couldn’t speak. Instead his eyes were drawn past and through Geiri, out to sea. After what seemed like an age he finally found some words. ‘She … um … she … Yes. I mean no.’

‘Ulfar … did you hit your head? What happened? What did she say to you?’

Ulfar briefly inspected his feet and fidgeted with his hair. ‘Nothing. Let’s go.’ He turned and walked away. Anywhere would do as long as it was away from the harbour. Vaguely aware that Geiri was shuffling behind him, Ulfar looked around for the biggest road leading out of the harbour square.

There.

A paved road ran due north, past the longhouse. As they breached the half-circle of houses around the harbour the old town thinned out around them. Ulfar drew a sharp breath.

What had looked like a hill when they arrived was in fact a fortress. The walls were massive, curving away in a perfect circle from a gate at the end of the road. They were the height of at least three if not four grown men, almost vertical and overgrown with grass. Sentries walked the walls, patrolling the gate at the end of the road.

‘Slow down, will you?’ Geiri muttered behind him as they walked towards the gate. Ulfar was in no mood to reply. ‘So that’s the new town. These guys seem to be serious about their fortifications, don’t they? This is like Trelleborg,’ Geiri ventured. Ulfar kept walking. The gate in the wall turned out to be the entrance into a short tunnel with a steady stream of people going in and out. They emerged on the other side and into a market square
with stalls and carts wherever there was a bit of space. A road led straight north from the market to the centre of town, where a longhouse rose above the roofs of the surrounding houses. Without a word Ulfar walked towards it.

Geiri caught up with him at the door. ‘Okay. So. We’re here now.’ His cousin composed himself, smoothed out imaginary creases in his clothing and stood up straight. ‘Let’s go.’ He pushed at the thick oak doors, which swung open without a sound. He stepped inside. Ulfar followed.

The chieftain’s longhouse was empty save for two old men on an elevated platform at the far end. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Geiri moved towards them. ‘Svealand sends its greetings!’ he said loudly when he’d come halfway towards them.

The two men looked up. Something passed between them and the older one, a short, wiry man with a bushy white beard, stood and moved towards them.

‘Well met, Svealand,’ he said. ‘My name is Sven.’

‘No – I mean – I send greetings from Svealand,’ Geiri stammered. ‘I thought – are you Sigurd?’

‘No. My name is still Sven,’ the old man said, hardly able to contain his amusement. Ulfar could see the colour rise in his cousin’s cheeks. His own burned in response and he thought of the girl by the harbour. Nothing was real in this house because she wasn’t here. He felt like he was watching Geiri and the old man through water.

‘But you’ve not introduced yourself, Svealand. Who honours us with their company?’ the man named Sven asked, eyes glinting in the half-light.

‘Well met. My name—’ Geiri coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I am Geiri Alfgeirsson, son of—’

The old man snorted. ‘Svealand, my boy. Are you about to say
you’re the son of Alfgeir Bjorne? Is that what you’re going to say?’

Geiri deflated. ‘… Yes?’

The old man’s eyes sparkled and he curbed a laugh. ‘Really. All right then. Let’s for a moment assume you are. What do you want, Geiri Alfgeirsson?’

‘My father has sent me to—’

‘Trade arms? Offer alliances? Take our gold and promise to come back with ships full of hardened Svear ready to do our bidding?’

Through the water Ulfar saw Geiri look at him with panic in his eyes. He saw his cousin beg for assistance, beg him to get them out of this mess. But she wasn’t there so it wasn’t real. He shrugged.

The old man looked at them then leaned towards Geiri, speaking softly. ‘Now, son. Let me tell you something. If you’ve come into Stenvik to lie and cheat you’re either very brave or not very smart. If you’ve come here in truth, think about this. Like a big sword, your father’s name has weight. If you want to lift something heavy you need to be strong. Now go away before my chieftain gets impatient and has you beheaded.’

Defeated, Geiri slunk off and Ulfar followed, his mind still at the harbour.

*

‘Just give me the damn flask.’ The hand was outstretched, huge, calloused and scarred, palm up.