The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men (36 page)

EAST OF STENVIK

Two logs stood in the middle of the eastern road, midway between the forest and the wall. Diagonally crossed, they leaned back onto a third for support.

The scouts on the eastern wall peered out into the morning gloom. Something seemed to be tied to the logs.

Not something. Someone.

A man hung on the frame. He was naked from the waist up, arms tied to the rising ‘V’, legs spread and nailed to the logs. His head was pulled back.

As the first rays of the morning sun rose over the forest, light played on the ravaged body on the frame.

Broken ribs protruded from his back, shaped like blood-stained wings. Sigmar stared at Stenvik, his eyes wide open and lifeless, mouth frozen in a silent scream.

STENVIK, THE OLD TOWN

‘He’s gone. Ingi’s gone.’ Skargrim felt sick to his stomach.

Gone.

He looked at the other two captains standing around the cooling campfire, warriors rising around them.

‘I knew we shouldn’t have—’ Thrainn began.

‘No you didn’t.’ Hrafn cut in. ‘No you didn’t, and that’s a bad road to go down. You didn’t, I didn’t and Skargrim didn’t. So we all take the blame for this and we carry it like men. Unless this is part of some master plan that I am unaware of. I for one was
happy when Ingi suggested that his men take watch for the night because he’d missed out on the action. I have … I had nearly a hundred wounded men, and put some of them out with him. Their throats have all been cut. Clean, neat and silent. He launched over twenty ships last night. Next to our heads. And none of us knew, or noticed, or woke up.’

Gone. A third of their force was simply gone. Skargrim still couldn’t get his head around it.

Hrafn continued. ‘So what I would like to know is what we do now. I’ve not run away from a fight yet. What do you say, Skargrim? What do we do?’

Bile rising in his throat, the grizzled old captain turned without a word, set his sights on the
Njordur’s Mercy
and half-walked, half-stumbled towards the pier. Neither the wooden boards nor the familiar gentle roll of the waves lapping against the ferry boat calmed him down. He clambered onboard, moved to the hides and swept them aside. ‘You knew. You knew he would betray us,’ he snarled. ‘You – you …’ As his voice trailed off Skargrim blinked, shook his head and swallowed.

She looked up at him, sizing him up. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘Wh— why? Why didn’t you do anything?’ he croaked, unable to look.

‘I couldn’t. It was foretold.’

‘But you’re – you can …’

‘If it is in the web I cannot change it.’ Her smile was tinged with regret. ‘I can only … add to it. That is why I summoned the people of the land to stalk the forests, the shamed and the desperate, the cruel and the wicked. That is why I’ve called on the gods to help us. Behold the Einherji.’ Skargrim stole a glance at the body lying at her feet and an involuntary shudder rattled through him. ‘You were right about Ingi. He knows how to avoid
a fight he thinks he can’t win. He was always going to leave at the first sign of real trouble.’ She paused and cocked her head, as if listening to something on the wind. After a little while she turned her eye back on the Viking captain, standing rooted to the spot, gazing at her. ‘Rouse the men. They fear you, they love you and they’ll follow you. Make ready to storm Stenvik.’

He stared at her, dazed.

‘Have faith, Skargrim. The gods are pleased with you. You are a man of great honour. If you sacrifice, if you give to the land, the gods will be good to you. Now go.’

And if you refuse, they will not.

Skargrim nodded, turned and walked towards the prow.

STENVIK

His face was drawn and his shoulders slumped, but there was no give in Sigurd’s voice. He turned to his hastily summoned war council, standing in a tight circle just outside the chieftain’s longhouse. ‘How many fighters do we have?’

‘About a hundred, give or take. Some more wounded, weak or old,’ Sven shot back. Jorn stood next to him, face grey with fatigue and a thick bandage wrapped around his upper left arm.

‘They’ll overrun us if we try to hold the wall,’ Thorvald said. His voice was flat, distant. Sigurd had led him up onto the wall, showed him what they’d done to Sigmar. The lanky scout master had taken a deep breath and nodded once. He’d stayed for a long-drawn-out moment, eyes fixed on the frame, on Sigmar. Then he’d exhaled, turned and walked away. Now he stood by the door to the longhouse, opening it mechanically to admit women and children, back straight, eyes looking out through the walls and to somewhere else.

‘I agree,’ said Sven. ‘Ideas?’

A timid voice broke the silence. ‘M-m-maybe I c-c-can … ?’

STENVIK, THE OLD TOWN

‘Tell the men we’re moving on Stenvik.’

‘What?’ Thora rounded on Skargrim, incredulous. ‘Is your brain wrapped in seaweed, captain? NOW you’re moving? NOW you’re charging? You could have HAD them last night! If you’d followed me – if you’d gone in – Egill Jotunn would have been alive. A lot of his men would have been alive! All you do is wag your fucking tail when she says so! You’re nothing but a dog to her! She whistles and you come calling, like a spineless, dickless lily boy!! How the fu—’

Skargrim grabbed Thora by the throat with incredible speed, the massive fist closing around her windpipe. Almost gently he inched his hand up until her jaw was resting on it. Then he lifted her off the ground. His arm did not tremble.

Thora struggled in his grip, clawing at his arm, kicking out, trying to reach the ground with her toes. Skargrim looked at her impassively.

‘Tell the men. Now.’ He let go. Thora collapsed on the ground, coughing, spitting and swearing. Around them, wide-eyed fighters turned on the spot and ran to follow Skargrim’s command.

STENVIK

Harald moved through the streets of Stenvik in a stupor. The wooden dagger by his breast felt hot and heavy like a stone from the fire, cold and light like an icicle. It pulsed, it sent his heart racing. It threw images at him. Images of power. The old gods,
the knife in the stomach, muscles and sweat. Fighting the sea and winning, flying with the wind at their back. Taking pleasure, loot and women.

‘Harald.’ Someone appeared in his field of vision, blurred and shifting like a mirage on the horizon. He blinked and tried to focus. ‘Harald. Are you well?’ True concern in the voice. The figure moved closer, seemed to smell him. Muscles tightened, fists clenched. A cold smile spread on Harald’s weathered face. He could almost taste the blood about to be spilled.

‘Have you seen Lilia?’ the thin man asked. Harald recognized Valgard’s voice, but only just. With great effort he banished his dark thoughts. ‘I thought I saw her walking down towards the longhouse,’ Valgard continued. ‘She would be safer in your house, wouldn’t she?’

Harald growled and set off towards the middle of Stenvik.

Valgard smiled at his back.

ONBOARD THE
NJORDUR’S MERCY

Wisps of grey smoke curled around the still body of Oraekja, twisting sinuously over and across each other in dizzying patterns. Looking down on him, Skuld closed her eyes and began to move her hands in waves and lines that matched the strands of grey, weaving and forming.

When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper.

‘Blood and body

Given freely

From the gods

The words are spoken

Threads are woven

You have woken

Rise, immortal

Odin’s warrior.’

At her feet something stirred.

STENVIK

Clutching his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut didn’t help. Harald’s head was full of fog. He growled in frustration.

Nothing made sense.

Why wouldn’t she be at home? She should be there, where she was supposed to be. She should be waiting for him. Why wouldn’t she be? Long, powerful strides took Harald to his house, past men running in different directions completing tasks he cared nothing about.

He pushed the door open. Nothing.

All at once the last days of waking, walking the walls and fighting to control his temper blended together and crashed down on his shoulders. The yearning for the sea took hold in a maddening rush. All the muscles in his body felt taut and tensed. He struggled to breathe. What had Valgard said? He hadn’t been sure where she was. He’d been pissing himself, the little weasel. He’d not wanted to tell him about Lilia and that skinny fucker from the south. But he had, eventually. Or as good as.

Where was she?

Where the hell was she?

STENVIK, THE OLD TOWN

Skargrim cursed.

Only a third of the men who had landed two nights ago stood
lined up by the jetty, eyeing him with distrust. He stared back at them, scowling. He looked over at Thora, who refused to meet his eyes.

Be honest. That’s what Ragnar would have told him.

He cleared his throat.

‘I did not choose this.’ A battle-hardened army of warriors, brawlers and murderers looked at him warily. ‘And you do not answer to me,’ he continued, the words trickling out of him, flowing through him. He started walking in front of the men. ‘When the skalds sing of this day, they will NOT call it the Ballad of Skargrim!’ Months of strain and fear came loose inside his chest and crashed like a breaking iceberg into the cold, dark sea. He rode the wave of it. ‘You have seen brothers and friends fall! You have watched the men of Stenvik fight back, hiding behind their walls and inside their holes! And you’ve asked yourselves why are we here? WHY?’ Suddenly he felt strong again, in power, standing in the bow of the ship in the van. ‘Because we fight for our lives! We fight for the right to live as WE choose! We fight to be free men, to decide for ourselves what we do!’ He stalked the square in front of Stenvik harbour, willing the men to see what he had seen, understand what Skuld had made him understand. Showing them the only way forward and the only reason to move. It was suddenly so clear. ‘We fight them here because the next fight will be closer to home and the next fight closer still, until we’re fighting them in our towns, standing over our children’s bodies. All because some upstart king wants to tell us our gods are wrong, our world is wrong, our understanding is wrong, our fathers and our fathers’ fathers are wrong. So now we turn on Stenvik for the last time. Their south gate is broken. They cannot man the wall for long. Then they will fall and the old ways will stand.’

He looked at the crowd before him. The seven hundred looked back, and none of them spoke. Then a loud bang broke the silence.

Metal on metal.

Hilt on shield boss.

Another. And another. Quicker.

The men on the beach parted for Thora.

Buckler strapped to the left arm, she banged the hilt of her shortsword on the shield again – and again – and again. One by one the men picked up their weapons and joined in.

Overcome, Skargrim looked at her. She looked straight back at him, eyes flinty.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed. She moved towards him, shortsword in hand. Seven steps. Five. Three.

She stepped into range. ‘Shut up, you thick fuck,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘You’re a cock and a fool, but you’re not …’ she paused and cricked her neck. ‘You’re not a bastard. Never have been. And someone has to stay with you to keep you alive.’

Fighting back emotion, Skargrim nodded.

Without warning, Thora rammed the buckler into his chest, just below his sternum. As he doubled over, fighting for breath, she leaned in and whispered, her breath hot on his ear.

‘I don’t care whether she’s just a regular bush witch from up north or the ruler of fate reborn, though – I
am
going to kill that bitch when this is over. Don’t get in my way. Understood?’ He coughed hard. ‘Good. Now stand up straight and lead the charge, you old boil-arsed bear,’ Thora said, smiling an unpleasant smile.

STENVIK

There. Just down the road.

Harald lengthened his stride to catch her, grabbed her arm
and twisted her around to face him. She screamed in surprise. ‘You’re coming home with me,’ he hissed between clenched teeth.

Lilia stared at him but dug her feet in.

He glared at her, showed his teeth and squeezed her arm.

‘Harald. Harald …’ Someone talking. Woman. He shook his head, tried to make the sound go away. ‘Harald … they said we were to go to the longhouse. You can’t take Lilia.’

The fire started in the base of his skull and spread from there throughout his body in the blink of an eye. It was in his veins, in his eyes, in his bones. He threw Lilia to the ground and whirled on the source of the sound. ‘What did you just say?’ he snarled.

Inga recoiled from him. ‘I just … I …’ she started whimpering.

‘Say it again. Say it again, you little bitch. Say it.’

‘You are a coward, Harald Jormundsson.’ The voice was quiet, insistent, intense … and familiar. ‘Look me in the eyes. Look at ME.’

It didn’t make sense. He turned, peering out of the depths of himself. ‘What …?’

Lilia stood straight and proud, red hair glowing in the morning sun, blue eyes blazing and trained on him. ‘I know you. I know that you are less than a man, Harald Jormundsson. You are a cruel boy, a horror and a fiend. I hate you and I never wish to see you again. I demand that our so-called union be broken, and if you try and drag me home I’ll wait till you fall asleep filled with that foul mixture’ – she stepped closer to him, so close that he could smell her – ‘and then I’ll stab you in the heart until you die!’ She snapped her teeth at him.

And he hit her.

Fast and hard.

She crumpled to the ground, blood flowing from her cheek. Mindless with rage, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of
hair in his left hand, yanked her up until she was almost sitting and prepared to hit her again.