Troll Blood (24 page)

“How did the ship catch fire?” Hilde had to run to keep up.

Peer flung her a look of disbelief. “How do you think? Gunnar and Harald. They did it, didn’t they? All this time they’ve been lying to us. They know quite well what happened to Thorolf.”

“No,” Hilde said dizzily. “Surely …”

“No?” Peer swung away. “Let’s go and ask them.”

“Stop! Peer, don’t!” Hilde caught his arm. But he broke roughly away, running down the beach toward the low sod houses by the river mouth.

“Peer!” she screamed. He was faster than she was, she’d never catch him. She sprinted after him, and the wind blew tears from her eyes. How quickly everything had gone wrong. Only a little while ago they’d been laughing, running in the moonlight, marveling at the pictures made by the little
wiklatmu’jk
.

Astrid rose like a ghost from a stone in front of her. “What on earth have you done to Peer? Didn’t I give you long enough? Has he kissed you?”

“What”—Hilde pressed a hand to her ribs—“are you talking about? We’ve got to stop him. He’s going to—he’s found …”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s Arnë after all, is it? What a fool you are. Arnë’s quite ordinary.”

Hilde nearly screamed at her. “He’s found the dragonhead from the
Long Serpent
. Burned. He’s going to face Harald.”

“Oh, gods.” Astrid’s face changed. “Get after him, quick. They’ll kill him.”

“Then it’s true? And you knew?”

“Just go!” Astrid shrieked, and Hilde flew on. The surface of the beach seemed to jump at her. Patterns everywhere—patterns &.

They danced before her eyes, in her mind, at the back of her head. A boy, a girl, a boat …She dashed through the patterns, scattering them.
Watch out, little creatures, for my thumping feet
. Stick figures flew, a leg here, an arm there.
The
wiklatmu’jk
make pictures of what they see
. What pictures had they made a year ago, when the beach was a battleground?

CHAPTER 16
Single Combat

P
eer burst into the house like a destroying wind. The door crashed behind him. The men eating around the hearth looked up in amazement. He lifted the dragonhead high, like a standard. Then he hurled it to the floor.

“What’s this?” Harald was the first to break silence, in his insolent drawl. “Firewood?”

Big Tjorvi came slowly forward. “That’s a dragonhead,” he growled in wonder, “a burned dragonhead.”

“From the
Long Serpent
,” said Peer harshly.

Gunnar half rose, staring at the ruined dragonhead. Harald’s lip curled. “And how would you know that, Bare-legs?” he sneered.

Peer laughed, a hard, fierce laugh. “Better than anyone, Harald. My father made it. In a way, it killed him. His chisel
slipped, and the wound turned bad. … You might say he put his blood into that ship.”

“And so? Why should I care about your carpenter father?” Harald lounged back, stretching out his legs and propping his heels on a small stool.

The dark, smoky room blurred and narrowed. Peer saw only the pale hated face of Harald. Tjorvi was saying something to him but his voice only boomed and mumbled, making no sense. Peer jerked free of Tjorvi’s restraining hand and stepped forward.

“Because my father was a maker, Harald,” he yelled. “He put something into this world, instead of taking something out of it. He made a ship, and it was a good ship. It brought Thorolf and his men all the way across the sea, not once, but twice.”

He drew a sobbing breath. “And where’s Thorolf now? Where’s Thorolf and his son Ottar and all his crew? What happened to the
Long Serpent
, Harald? Why did she burn?”

He ran out of air and stopped. Harald hadn’t moved. He stared up at Peer with a hard little smile. Beside him, Gunnar bent forward and coughed: short, wet, hacking coughs. Harald’s hand shifted to grip his father’s arm.

Everyone else remained perfectly still.

Peer shouted, “They’re dead, aren’t they? Dead, like those Skraelings you slaughtered today. And you know it because you killed them, and then you burned their ship and took their goods and sailed away. Thorolf’s in Vinland, you told us.
And like fools we believed you.”

The door rattled open. Hilde tumbled in out of the night, her hair coming down, her breath shrill. “Peer, come outside. need to talk to you”

Peer didn’t look at her. He laughed again, painful racking laughter that tore its way up through his throat. “You murderer, Harald. You bloody murderer. Ships don’t burn by themselves. Thorolf’s not in Vinland. Thorolf’s in Valhalla.”

Harald still didn’t move. “You’re crazy,” he said lightly. “I’m flattered, of course. You think I killed how many men, all alone?”

“Of course not alone. You and Gunnar, and—and your crew….”Peer looked around and swallowed.

“You mean Magnus and Floki and Halfdan?” Harald mused, flicking out fingers. “At least five of us here?” He twisted around. “What about it, men? Remember killing Thorolf?”

Floki’s ready mouth opened, but Magnus’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He doubled over, wheezing. Magnus turned a dark look on Harald and shook his head.

“No, Magnus doesn’t remember. What about Halfdan? Can you remember killing Thorolf, Halfdan?” Halfdan pinched his lips together. “Nope,” he said quickly.

Arnë and Tjorvi looked at each other.

“Oh dear, Halfdan doesn’t remember either.” Harald put his head to one side. “It can’t have happened, then.”

“Peer, leave it,” said Hilde. Her voice crackled with fear.

Only his anger was supporting Peer, a fragile scaffolding over a pit of terror. He clung to it. “They’re lying. I know you did it.”

Harald stood up. “Prove that.”

Peer pointed at the dragonhead on the floor. “There’s the proof.”

“I don’t mean that sort of proof.” Harald’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve accused me; now let’s see if you can prove it—man to man.”

“No!” Hilde screamed.

All the men began shouting: “No, no!” “Yes!”

“Fight!” Floki yapped.

The door opened again and Astrid stole quietly in. Her face was white and her eyes narrow: She looked as sharp as a fox. Hilde ran to her. “Astrid, you must know what happened. It’s true, isn’t it? You know Peer’s right. Tell them, quickly.” Half pushing, half pulling, she propelled Astrid forward. The clamor died down.

Astrid’s eyes flashed from Peer’s face to Gunnar’s. She hesitated. “Sorry, Hilde.” The words were as cold and distinct as chips of marble. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And the next second everyone was shouting again.

“Enough!” Gunnar struggled to his feet. He stood, head low, glaring around the room with fierce, red-rimmed eyes. “That’s enough.
I’ll
say what goes on here.” He eyed the blackened dragonhead with a disgusted shudder. “Throw that thing on the fire. And you, boy”—he swung around to Peer—
“apologize to my son and we’ll forget about this.”

Peer stood up straighter, swaying. He licked his lips. The anger was draining away. He felt he was waking from a dream into a cold daybreak.
How did I get myself into this mess? I’ve made all the wrong moves. Run straight into the net
.

“Apologize, Peer,” whispered Hilde. “It doesn’t matter, nothing matters. It’s only words. Just do it.”

Harald smiled at him, eyes alight with amused contempt. “You heard her, Barelegs. Get on with it. Grovel.”

Peer looked at Harald.
I can’t
, he thought,
I really can’t
. It was a surprise to discover that he’d sooner die than do what Harald wanted. He was almost angry with himself.
Stupid, stiff-necked, stubborn
… But his lips wouldn’t form the words. He said doggedly, and a chill swept down his spine as he spoke: “No. You killed Thorolf, Harald. I swear it on my father’s life.”

“All right then.” Harald nodded to him. “We’ll fight.”

“This is crazy!” Hilde’s face was white. “How can fighting prove anything? Gunnar, please!”

Peer wished she’d stop fussing: It wouldn’t do any good. He watched Harald’s sword come out with a grating hiss. Floki was saying, “But what’s Peer—I mean, Barelegs—what’s he going to fight with? He hasn’t got a sword.”

“He can borrow my father’s,” Harald said. He tossed a look at Peer. “Will it do for you? Or would you prefer a hammer?” Laughter bubbled up in his face, and Peer saw in his eyes the memory of that faraway day on the jetty. He remembered,
too. He remembered standing there watching the ship come in, wondering if he could hit anyone. Now he’d have to find out. Fear stirred in his belly.

Harald always meant it should come to this
.

“He gets to borrow Gunnar’s sword?” Floki was saying jealously. “Lucky!”

“Shut your stupid mouth, Floki,” Magnus growled.

“This won’t do.” Arnë slammed a fist down. “Peer can’t fight Harald. It’s not a fair match.” Tjorvi rumbled agreement, but Gunnar picked at his front teeth with a brown fingernail and said, “Two lads, the same age, the same height?” He shook his head. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Harald’s experience?” said Astrid, her voice like cold water dripping.

Harald laughed. “He doesn’t have to fight me, darling Astrid. He can back down.”

“Peer,” Hilde pleaded.

“But he can’t,” said Halfdan, shocked. “Only a coward would do that.”

Someone—Floki—shoved a sword into Peer’s hands. “Here, take it.” His red face swam close up to Peer’s, round-eyed and curious as a cow’s. “You must be mad,” he said on a waft of damp, warm breath. “Fancy having a go at Harald.”

Peer clutched the sword. It was amazingly heavy: He had to use both hands. He stared at the blade. There were little silver scratches where it had been sharpened, and halfway down, the edge had been turned by some blow. He rested the point
on the floor and looked up.

A space was clearing around them. Benches were being dragged back.

I’m going to die
. He felt horribly calm, though rather weak at the knees. There was no way out. He had a sword he didn’t know how to use, and Harald would kill him. It was as simple as that.

“Right.” Harald stepped forward.

“Wait, Harald.” Arnë grabbed him. “You can’t fight like this—indoors, by firelight. Look around!” He gestured. “There’s hardly room to move. What’s more, it’s unlawful. Night killings are murder: That’s the law.”

Harald turned. “What law, Arnë? Whose law? This is Vinland,” he added cheerfully. “Remember the Skraelings? There are no laws here. That’s why we came.” He advanced on Peer.

Peer backed away, holding the sword out in front of him. If only he could keep it between him and Harald, like a barrier. He saw Big Tjorvi’s troubled face, the firelight shining through his dandelion-fluff hair. He saw Hilde’s horrified stare—Floki, twisting his hands together excitedly—Magnus, sour and uneasy. Astrid stood behind Gunnar, gazing at him intently. Gunnar’s light eyes blinked at Peer and flicked away. Blink, flick.

Harald was totally relaxed. He shook his sword suddenly and laughed to see Peer jump. He was moving sideways, making Peer turn to face the fire, so that the light would shine in
his eyes. He feinted in, a low slash. Everyone went, “Ooh!” and Peer stumbled back before realizing that Harald was playing with him.

Cat and mouse
, he thought bitterly. A dog barked outside the door. Loki. Peer’s attention flickered. At least Loki was safe out there—

He dodged, barely in time. The sword struck like a serpent, stinging his arm, parting his sleeve. Harald feinted again—high, then low. Peer hopped—this way, that way. Where would the next blow come from? Harald was laughing.
I’ve got to fight back
, Peer remembered.
Got to use this sword
. He wagged it clumsily.

With a grunt and a cry Harald whirled his sword in an arc toward Peer’s shoulder. Peer’s reflexes took over. He lashed furiously upward. There was a ringing crash, and the blades clung eagerly together, biting, then slid apart with a tooth-jangling screech and a flurry of blue sparks.

Sweat and terror half blinded Peer. His arm hurt now. There was blood on his sleeve. His fingers were numb with the shock of the blow. He stepped back, blinking, shaking his head.
I’m done for. I’ll never manage to ward him off twice
.