The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men Page 10

  ‘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.

  ‘Smile at this, Skargrim! We’re leaving!’ Ingi made to turn around, and almost walked into Skuld. Neither of the captains had noticed as she walked up to them.

  Now Ingi faced her, with Skargrim at his back.

  ‘I will not take orders from you either, woman. It doesn’t …’ Ingi’s voice trailed off. ‘… It doesn’t … make any … sense.’

  She reached out and touched his forearm. Skargrim felt the cold kiss of crisp winter breeze, saw Ingi’s knees start to shake gently and heard the little man’s breath quicken. He observed her from over Ingi’s shoulder. Straight, blonde hair framed her sparkling blue eyes, skin made from clouds and mountain snow, lips of sunset red moving almost imperceptibly. She was fragile, beautiful and desperately vulnerable. He wanted to toss the little man out of the way and embrace her, protect her, shield her from all harm. Her eyes had not captured his, so he could resist the powerful feeling that washed over him, but only just.

  Ingi had no such luck.

  ‘But it makes sense to leave us in the hour of our greatest need?’ she asked, a note of tender, resigned regret in her voice. ‘Leaving your brothers in arms? Denouncing your gods? Abandoning … me?’

  Skargrim dared not breathe. He’d seen her do this to other men, and he knew what would follow. She’d use the powers Loki had given her to win him over, feel weaker for it, and then someone would have to die to give her strength. After what seemed like an eternity she continued.

  ‘If that is how you wish to proceed, Ingi, then do. But know this – you are needed here. And not only needed – you are respected and honoured. Your counsel, your wisdom, your prudence. This is the mighty host of which you and your men are designed to be the backbone. This is where you will write your name in legend. Will you leave us now?’

  Skargrim found he was holding his breath.

  ‘… No,’ Ingi whispered.

  Her hands moved slowly, tantalizingly, towards his face. She cupped his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. ‘This pleases me, Ingi. It pleases me greatly. Now go see to your men. Be the leader I know you can be.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I will,’ Ingi blurted out, and hurried down off the lookout mound towards his camp.

  When he was gone, she turned to Skargrim. ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘I do.’ She raised an immaculate eyebrow. Skargrim continued. ‘At heart he is a greedy coward, unable to deal with chaos and risk. That is precisely why we want him. He knows, fears and respects battle. If Ingi doesn’t want to do it, we know we’re taking chances that we shouldn’t take.’

  Skuld smiled at him. The smile did not reach her cold blue eyes. ‘Tell me again. You sent the promise of gold?’

  ‘I did. The forest around Stenvik will be crawling with every poacher, thief and blackheart in the south-west. As you instructed,’ Skargrim answered.

  ‘Good.’

  The movement down on the beach broke the spell of her eyes.

  The five black and silver ships had landed.

  Unlike the other arrivals, nobody rushed to help.

  A giant of a man leapt overboard from the lead ship and strode to shore.

  ‘SKARGRIM!’ he bellowed.

  ‘WELL MET, EGILL!!’ Skargrim shouted back from his mound.

  Egill looked up and raised one slablike fist in salute.

  Skargrim walked calmly down towards the beach to meet the newest arrival.

  Many of his men had doubted that Egill Jotunn even existed. His crew was the source of much legend, nobody knew where his ships came from or went back to, and various stories flourished, each of them less probable than the other. Now the assembled raiders had a chance to see for themselves.

  The man on the beach was a specimen. Skargrim was a sizeable man himself, but Egill was at least a head taller. Some said he was half giant, others that he was Thor’s bastard son. He killed his first man when he was five and legend had it he had once sunk an enemy ship by flinging a ram ten lengths from his own boat and straight through its hull.

  Skargrim didn’t care for stories. What he did know was that nobody had yet bested Egill in single combat. Hell, anyone who was dumb enough to take on that mountain of a man without a small army deserved to die. Skuld had told him where to find Egill and his crew, and when he’d seen them he’d decided on the spot that they would need them. As his ships ran ashore gently, they started forming ranks on the beach.

  First came the fighters.

  They leapt over the side of the ships, swift and nearly silent. Their mail shirts were black, as were their helmets. They wore short axes and longswords at their belts, and held long spears or nasty halberds. No shields. They were strong men who walked proud and looked at the amassed crowd of toughened raiders with a healthy amount of scorn.

  Hard as nails, they looked.

  But there were also only a hundred and fifty of them.

  ‘Is that all you brought?’ Thrainn shouted derisively from the middle of his camp. The men laughed. Skargrim winked at Egill and grinned.

  From one of the ships came an agonized, strangled howl that sounded almost inhuman. On the beach, over fifteen hundred hardened raiders from all over the north took a simultaneous step back and fell quiet. Skargrim caught Hrafn’s eye. The Finnmark chieftain was grinning like a child with a new toy, bounding up and down and craning his neck to see.


  And then they came.

  The Twenty.

  Shuffling out of the boat, looking miserable, grey-green and seasick. All manner of men. Thick, thin, tall and short, strong and frail. Bald, hairy, bearded, shaven, scabby, clean, young and not so young. Carrying an assortment of weapons. Scythes, spikes, iron knuckles, shortswords, knives, axes, hammers and picks.

  And no armour.

  Instead, each of the twenty had a filthy, tattered bearskin tied around his waist, complete with gaping half-head.

  Egill’s raiders formed a protective circle around them. It was not entirely sure who was protecting who from what, Skargrim thought. Apprehension, even fear, clouded the faces of the men.

  A loud voice pierced the tense silence. ‘Welcome to Wyrmsey! Right, you furry goat-fuckers, get your stinky, boil-filled pusspewing arses in gear and come on over. I and the boys have prepared a special sleeping place for you.’ Thora strode in front of the circle of black-clad warriors, pacing back and forth. ‘But mind, if you start any of that howling at the moon nonsense while I’m getting my beauty sleep I’ll come over and smack all of you in the mouth!’

  The tension changed the outburst of spontaneous laughter instantly into raucous cheering. Even some of the black raiders cracked a smile. Striding towards Skargrim, Egill exclaimed: ‘That’s a good woman right there.’

  ‘I know,’ Skargrim said with a grin.

  Hrafn nearly crashed into them. ‘Berserkers! You brought berserkers! I’ve never even seen them! I’ve just heard stories! And to be in the presence of Egill Jotunn himself – it is an honour.’ Hrafn bowed low.

  Egill roared. ‘Hah! Says Hrafn of the Long Knife, House-burner, Blood-beak, scourge of the North Seas? I am the one who should be giving you my thanks! I’ve heard much about you.’

  ‘And likewise,’ Hrafn said, clasping Egill’s arm in a warrior’s grip and looking almost comically small in comparison. ‘Berserkers!’ he bubbled.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Egill said with a smile. ‘These are the last ones. The Twenty. As far as I know, that’s all that remains. I heard several stories a few years back of a man who murdered nearly half a village in a rage, but he’s the only one who hasn’t sought me out. If I ever see him I’ll name him Third Seven, and he shall sail with me. Every one of the twenty has found us. They say they couldn’t run with other crews because things … unfortunate things had a way of happening.’

  ‘They did,’ Skargrim agreed.

  ‘Well, not with me they don’t,’ Egill added gleefully. ‘I keep these bastards in line, and they love me for it. If we can, we beach when they’re howling, so they can go wrestle a tree or a big rock or something. That way they don’t hurt anyone unintentionally.’

  ‘What happens if they go wild when you’re out to sea?’ Hrafn asked.

  Egill looked at him and grinned savagely. ‘Then they wrestle me.’

  Thrainn approached the gathered chieftains. ‘Skargrim. Hrafn. Egill. I am Thrainn Thrandilsson. It is an honour for a captain like me to be on the same island, let alone sail with legends such as you.’ He inclined his head.

  Skargrim grinned inwardly. Experience was already serving young Thrainn well.

  ‘Tell me, Thrainn,’ Egill rumbled. ‘That looks like, what? Three hundred raiders in your camp?’

  ‘More than four hundred,’ Thrainn said, straightening up somewhat.

  ‘I will tell you what I think,’ Egill said, eyeing the young man thoughtfully. ‘I reckon anyone can captain a ship if he’s mean enough. Maybe two. But a raiding party of four hundred men will only follow a man who is on his way to becoming a legend in his own right. I have heard tell of you. You sail with us as a northern chieftain of note and I consider you my equal. I look forward to the battle and hope you will prove yourself my superior.’

  Thrainn grinned and bowed his head once more. ‘Your generosity is only matched by your size.’

  Egill roared again. ‘Hah! The whelp has a tongue on him!’ Ingi approached the assembled chieftains. Skargrim stepped out and made space for him in the circle. When he introduced himself, Egill whipped around with frightening speed and squared up to Skargrim. ‘You lying rat bastard!’ he snarled and pointed straight at the old captain’s face. In a split second the mood changed. Hands moved to hilts obvious and concealed. Feet shuffled into fighting stances. Body weight shifted and Egill continued, scowling. ‘When you summoned us you didn’t tell me we’d be sailing with people who hadn’t lost their mind!’

  The silence stretched on into tense confusion, until finally Hrafn cracked up and started giggling so hard he eventually had to lean on Egill, who was shaking silently. Thrainn and Ingi shot each other confused glances. Skargrim grinned wryly.

  ‘Forgive me, I just had to,’ Egill said, laughing. ‘If you can’t laugh, what can you do? These will be times of death and murder. I have heard tell of you too, Ingi. The voices on the wind call you Iceblood. Your crew is said to be the best, most disciplined and most consistently alive of all. I salute you.’

  Ingi nodded. ‘I take great pride in the safety of my men.’

  There were grave nods all around. ‘An honourable position,’ Egill added. ‘I do the very same.’

  Ingi sneered. ‘How can you? You have berserkers.’

  ‘Yes I do. And my men are safe, because the mad dogs do what I say.’

  ‘And can you really control them? Or will my men find themselves fighting next to spitting, snarling animals just as like to turn their swords on friend as foe? Maybe we should nail these last dregs up like all the others to be on the safe side.’

  Egill leaned down until he was very close to Ingi’s face. His voice quavered with fury. ‘Yes I can control them. I can and will control them. You are safe and your men are safe. I know what I’m doing. And if you so much as look at me or my men wrong again, you quivering little bitch, I will rip you limb from limb and eat you.’

  Ingi did not flinch. Instead, he smiled back. ‘Good,’ he said, conversationally. ‘The last thing I would want is to find myself on the wrong side of a crazed half-giant. I would be forced’ – and here he shot Egill a look no less fierce – ‘to poison the food of all his men and murder him in his sleep if he ever threatened me again.’

  The two men locked eyes for what seemed like an age. Neither budged an inch.

  Skargrim stroked his beard. ‘But wouldn’t it be much better to look funny at Egill and then eat poison yourself, Ingi? That way, when he tears you limb from limb and eats you, he’ll die.’ The two men blinked, their gazes wavering. ‘Revenge will be yours, and you’ll be known as the brave warrior who killed the mythical Egill Jotunn.’ Matching looks of confusion flitted across the two angry captains’ faces. Skargrim continued. ‘And then, when you’re both dead and have hopefully stopped posturing like two young pups with a cock-size problem, I can take over both of your parties.’ Torn between staring each other down and listening to Skargrim, the two chieftains slowly backed away and turned to the grizzled old captain. ‘I might give Thrainn some of the skilled fighters, split the hard bastards in three between all of us and give the berserkers to Hrafn here. I’m sure he’d have fun going crazy with them,’ Skargrim continued. Hrafn’s eyes sparkled with joy and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Ingi and Egill seemed to have forgotten their quarrel. ‘So can we agree, now, that we all know what we’re doing?’ Skargrim added. Ingi and Egill mumbled their agreements. ‘Good. Now go see to your crews, have your ships ready to fly at a moment’s notice and try to keep your men alive. There will be plenty of killing to go around when we get there.’

  Thrainn left at once, saluting as he moved away. Hrafn bounded along after him. Neither Ingi nor Egill moved.

  Skargrim sighed and stepped pointedly between them. He turned to look at the shorter man. ‘I can understand your concerns, Ingi. But I have every faith in Egill and I humbly request that you consider showing faith in me, if not him. Allow his men to prove themselves in battle. All precautions will be taken.’

&nb
sp; Ingi peered up at Skargrim, but nodded before he turned and headed towards his camp. When he was gone, Skargrim turned to Egill. ‘I am nowhere near your height, my giant friend. But one thing I share with you. I too have seen men grow furious for no cause, when the real reason is’ – Skargrim marked Ingi’s height just below Egill’s chest – ‘beyond their control.’

  A smile cracked the giant’s scowling face and continued to spread, impossibly wide.

  ‘I too will have faith in you, Skargrim. Your reputation alone demands it. But you also know how to lead, and for that I will follow you, and my men will follow me.’

  Skargrim gave Egill’s hand as solid a shake as he dared. The giant grunted in acknowledgement, turned and headed towards his encampment.

  Behind him the sun started its descent.

  STENVIK

  ‘It’s not my fault.’ Harald sat and sulked in the corner of Valgard’s house. ‘They’re being unfair, and I don’t think I should be paying those stupid bastards any of the gold I’ve personally stolen.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Valgard muttered from his workbench. With his back turned, he could limit himself to just sounding sympathetic.

  ‘I mean, I was just doing what Sigurd told me to, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Valgard said, while keeping his eye on the point of the knife slicing into the root. ‘They’re not treating you right, Harald. I agree.’

  ‘Damn right they’re not,’ Harald fumed. ‘No one is. Well, no one but you, Valgard. You respect me. You listen to me. I don’t have to threaten or beat you.’

  ‘Of course I listen, Harald.’ A drop of sweat broke free of Valgard’s hairline and slid gently down his forehead. ‘We’re … friends.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Harald muttered, anger and frustration rising in his voice. ‘I don’t care what they say. A man has to think for himself. Only it seems Harald is not allowed to. Harald has to obey the rules. And then they change the rules, and Harald has to pay. Always Harald.’

  Valgard felt the familiar tingling in his scalp. He gripped the hilt of the knife as if his life depended on it. Images of the forest flashed through his mind and he forced himself to breathe, to regain control. Suddenly the board appeared in his mind. The move was obvious. He steeled himself, made sure he had a voice.