The Valhalla Saga Page 24

  Not that anyone complained.

  The men of Stenvik roared their approval but got little time to celebrate their victory.

  Thorvald, Sven and Sigurd moved among them, commanding a clean-up. Planks were scrubbed, weapons checked and bodies unceremoniously dumped to the foot of the wall after being stripped of anything useful. ‘Give them something to clamber over,’ Sigurd had growled.

  Down in the market square Valgard and Sven were seeing to a surprisingly short line of wounded soldiers. The southern gate was up and the occasional strangled scream from a gatebreaker being put out of his misery rang out.

  No one paid them any heed.

  The shields up on the wall rose. Harald and his warriors emerged, bloodied but grinning manically. ‘Shields! Up! Shields, you bastards!’ one of them shrieked, and the others roared. ‘Oi! Where’s your spear?’ Hallmar shouted at one of the fighters. ‘Shut up,’ the tall raider snapped back. ‘Got ripped out of my hands.’

  ‘You got one, though, didn’t you?’ Harald draped a thick arm around the young raider.

  ‘Yes I did,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Spitted him like a pig.’

  Harald roared and the others joined in.

  Moving away from the blood-crazed raiders, Ulfar picked his way down the steps. Glancing into the southern gateway, his stomach churned and his breath caught in his throat.

  Corpses littered the stone corridor. There was blood everywhere. The floor was covered, the walls spattered. By the gate a pile of bodies lay, face down, brutally hamstrung. Their throats had been slit. Further down towards the ruined outer gate fighters lay sprawled in various poses, arrows and spears sticking out of their backs.

  ‘I guess we got this round.’ Audun stood behind him, looking at the carnage. ‘Sven says we’re to pile this up and use it as a barrier.’

  Ulfar shuddered involuntarily. ‘If that’s what he says then that’s what we do, I guess.’ He followed Audun, who was already picking his way through the gateway, feet splashing in pools of blood. Somehow some of it had sprayed up on the wall and nearly to the rough timbers in the tunnel ceiling. Ulfar followed the line with his eyes.

  ‘Murder holes in the roof. There’s just about space enough for a couple of men to go down from the top, stand above the tunnel and stab downwards with spears. They sent—’

  ‘Harald and his friends,’ Ulfar replied. ‘Through the big shields up there. I saw them come out again.’

  ‘And then there’s little hidden holes in the inner gate for spears or arrows, and space for swiping a blade down at ankle level. These poor bastards never stood a chance.’

  Ulfar cursed softly. ‘Sven wasn’t kidding when he said he had some surprises for the visitors.’ He grabbed a leg and helped drag a lifeless body to the corpse wall Audun was building.

  ‘No, he wasn’t. Sven and Sigurd knew what they were doing.’

  ‘Did you take part in building this?’ Ulfar gestured at the stone-masonry.

  ‘No, not at all. This is from long before my time. Ten summers? Fifteen? I don’t know. Closer to ten, I should think. The story says Sigurd and Sven had raided so much and carried home so much treasure that they needed a fortress to guard it all.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Might be. I’ve never seen any treasures, though. I think it’s a story and I think they simply wanted to keep the people safe. I—’ Audun paused, then pointed at a warrior on the floor. ‘This one is alive.’

  ‘Not by much, from the looks of it,’ Ulfar replied.

  The raider lay on his back, an arrow tip coated in shiny, brownish black liquid sticking out of his chest. His eyes fluttered.

  Ulfar looked at the blacksmith, who nodded once, an odd expression on his face. He then drew his sword and stabbed the man through the heart, a killing blow.

  They both shuddered when the light went out of the man’s eyes.

  After a moment Ulfar spoke up. ‘Let’s finish the stacking and get out of here.’

  ‘Very good idea,’ Audun replied, a shade too quickly.

  STENVIK, THE OLD TOWN

  ‘This really is not going to be as easy as we thought, is it?’ Hrafn looked at the other captains sitting around the fire. ‘Am I the only one here who expected a real fight?’

  Three pairs of eyes trained on Hrafn.

  ‘All right, so maybe not. But we’ve tested their strength now. There’s a fair amount of it.’

  ‘Except in numbers,’ Thrainn interjected.

  ‘This is true,’ Hrafn acceded.

  Ingi cleared his throat. ‘Fine. Then let’s talk possibilities. We’ll have a hard time getting at the inner gate. The outlaws were slaughtered on those walls, so climbing is out. We can hardly sneak up on them from here on in. I say we wait.’

  ‘What? Where’s the honour in that? Waiting for them to weaken and die?’ Hrafn hissed.

  ‘Think about it. Skargrim said he’d sent men to poison their water. You’ll get your fight, Hrafn. But it will be on our terms, when they’re weak, thirsty and forced to leave their little fortress. It’s safer, it’s more efficient and it will be a lot easier.’

  No one could really argue with that.

  Ingi nodded for emphasis. ‘Good. Are we then agreed?’

  Hrafn and Thrainn nodded.

  ‘… Egill? Do you agree, or would you like to continue to throw men at the walls?’

  ‘We should wait for Skargrim,’ Egill rumbled. ‘It’s not right to decide this when he’s not here.’

  ‘Well – where is he then?’ Ingi asked.

  No one spoke. The answer was written all over the captains’ faces.

  THE NJORDUR’S MERCY

  The waves caressed the sleek hull. A chill breeze stroked the mast, searching for sails that weren’t there.

  Skargrim knew that he had to report to Skuld, had to tell her what had happened. She would know, of course. There was no doubt about that. But he had to. So now he found himself onboard his own ship, as intimately familiar to him as his own body. Only now it felt … different. A little bit colder than the rest of the world.

  A small torch mounted on the mast threw wild, dancing shadows at Skargrim as he picked his way to the stern.

  ‘Enter.’

  He pulled back the hides and stepped inside.

  The first thing he felt was a light touch on his forearm. He turned towards her, looked straight into her eyes.

  ‘Skargrim. Your bravery and loyalty are beyond question,’ she purred. ‘You have done well.’

  ‘They … they slaughtered us,’ he managed to stutter.

  ‘Shhh …’ her fingers seemed to walk themselves up his arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Her hand was on his shoulder then a finger found his lips, tracing a line before pressing gently. Her eyes never left his.

  ‘Do not fear, Skargrim. We do not need fear.’

  Holding on to the last shreds of self-control, he managed to gently move her hand away from his face. ‘We need … we need to seal them in. Make sure they’re not going anywhere. They’ll run out of water. Maybe there’s a way to get at the gate as well.’

  She smiled, a vision of life, youth and beauty. Then she shook her head, raised herself up onto her toes and gently, softly took Skargrim’s head in her hands.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No waiting. The gods do not wait. It is not our way. Attack, Skargrim. Attack. No matter what it takes.’

  He blinked, his mouth opening and closing.

  ‘Yes,’ he finally muttered. ‘Attack.’

  STENVIK

  The stones in the gateway reeked of death. Every scrape of metal on rock grated on Ulfar’s ears, every squelching sound of bodies dragged through puddles of half-dried blood made him shudder. But they were nearly done. He looked on as Audun leaned up against the wall, breathing heavily.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The smith levered himself back up and shook his head as if trying to dislodge something. ‘I’m fine. It’s just … I have a bit of a problem with blood.�
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  ‘And that is no bad thing,’ Ulfar replied, as they heaved the last body into place. A pile of Skargrim‘s dead warriors now blocked the southern gateway almost completely. Some had been cut down in the first attack, others shot as they tried to escape. The stone tunnel smelled like a battlefield: blood mixed with sweat and shit.

  ‘This will slow them down some,’ Audun offered.

  ‘Or make them all the more furious,’ Ulfar replied. He’d seen more death in the last half-day than he’d heard of in his life, just about. His mind wandered back to his father’s longhouse years ago, and the feasts for Uncle Hrothgar’s return from raiding. When he was a boy he’d admired the massive, scary warrior, pestering him for stories of big raids and the glory of the fight. Hrothgar would simply smile and say Ulfar would understand when he was older. Ulfar understood now. He understood completely. Three years ago he’d been begging to go raiding, see the world and win his honour, but his father wouldn’t let him. Ulfar’s fate was supposed to be that of a country lord. He was to manage filthy farmers and count grains until he was grey. One drunken night, one dumb fight, and suddenly he had no alternative. It had taken the intervention of Geiri’s father to keep the family of the man whose arm he’d broken from exacting the full debt of honour. Instead they’d settled on a substantial sum in restitution and two years’ exile.

  Ulfar decided that when they returned home he would give them more. He’d abandon all claims to his father’s estate. Give it to Geiri instead. Come here, maybe. Woo Lilia properly, challenge Harald to a duel. Run away with her and explore beyond the north, find a place where they weren’t constantly trying to kill each other. Lord? Carry his father’s mantle? After what he’d seen here? Not a chance. Not a bloody chance.

  ‘Ulfar.’

  Coming from the gate, Sven’s leaden voice shook him out of his reverie.

  ‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’

  STENVIK, THE OLD TOWN

  ‘Then so it is.’

  ‘So it is.’ Skargrim nodded. ‘We attack just before dawn.’

  ‘Why then?’ Thrainn asked. ‘Why not now? They won’t see us coming.’

  ‘And how will you see them, boy? How will you tell your men from their men and my men?’ Hrafn asked. Thrainn turned to object but thought better of it. Instead he asked the only man who had been silent since Skargrim came ashore and summoned them to council.

  ‘What do you think, Ingi?’

  ‘What do I think?’ The diminutive chieftain looked at them and smiled. ‘I think I would like to pitch a battle where Sigurd Aegisson isn’t fighting. He knows what he’s doing and he can hold that hovel of his for a while without losing many men. Those outlaws will hardly be of great use to us, as you saw on the walls. The gateways are going to cost more than I think we should pay. So if you’re going to persist in this, rather than, say, wait outside until they weaken and need to come out for food and drink, you need more than just a desire to attack. You need a plan. And before I say what I think or move a single one of my men to help I’d like to see it. How are you going to crack Stenvik?’

  There was a sense of a shift in the dark as Egill Jotunn moved and leaned in, the flickering firelight painting a demon on his face. ‘I might have a suggestion or two,’ he rumbled.

  STENVIK

  Stars twinkled overhead. The moon peered from behind the clouds to cast an eerie silver light over the town. Inside the walls, mounted torches created pools of warm, orange light inside a ring of dancing, jumping shadows.

  ‘Let him go.’ Sven’s voice was calm, reassuring. ‘He needs time. I don’t know if he’s lost anyone close before.’

  Audun watched Ulfar as the young man headed north, away from them. He looked listless, head hanging and shoulders slumped. Audun nodded, slowly. ‘It’s a shame. Geiri seemed a good man.’

  ‘No doubt.’

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘He fell asleep and his heart simply seems to have stopped.’

  Audun shook his head. ‘No way for a young man to go. No way at all.’

  ‘No.’ The two men stood and watched as a cloud drifted across the moon.

  Darkness.

  VALHALLA

  ‘What’s on your mind, Harald?’

  Freya ran her fingers through his hair, slowly and tenderly, touching him just right. He felt weak with desire.

  ‘I … I’m just not sure.’

  ‘What do you mean? You follow your chieftain’s orders, do you not?’ Thor leaned forward, looking concerned. ‘Is he unfit to rule?’

  ‘Or do you want to do it yourself? Give the command? Lead the troops to glory?’ Loki did not grace him with a look, devoting all his attention to a twig in his hands. Deft flicks of the knife carved impossibly small runes into the wood.

  ‘No. I follow Sigurd’s orders, he’s the chieftain. We’ve been through that. It’s just …’

  ‘… just what, my brave warrior?’ Standing behind him, Freya leaned on his shoulders. He could feel her firm, heavy breasts pressing into his back and thought his heart would burst.

  ‘I … I don’t know how much Sigurd respects the old gods.’ Harald looked around nervously. ‘I mean – all of you. You and the all-father. I don’t think Sigurd is all that faithful. He just wants to keep all of us alive until we die in our sleep. I think he’s growing craven in his old age and I think Sven is at least partly to blame. If there was any sense in them we would be allying with Skargrim and the outlaws and then taking on that upstart king.’

  The three deities all looked at him with renewed interest. Harald could have sworn that even in the darkened end of the hall somebody had suddenly started paying attention. The deep shadows seemed to be … listening.

  ‘You’re saying that Sigurd Aegisson is no longer loyal to us?’ Loki asked quietly.

  Thor smashed his fist on the table. ‘WE SAVED YOU!’ he thundered, face suddenly flushed with anger. ‘We held the dark at bay! Sent you weather for crops! Kept you safe from hunger and death! You built this town for us, and THAT is why you’re ALIVE!’

  Freya’s face was hard. ‘We gave you the gift of children, and we gave your children the gift of life. Do you know how easily we could take that away? Fill your town with barren women?’ She looked down on him, cold and knowing. ‘You know how that feels, don’t you? Would you wish it upon all your kin, Harald?’

  ‘See?’ Loki said to Thor and Freya. ‘I told you. I was right all along.’ Neither of them answered him, so he turned to Harald. ‘How long since the last sacrifice, my friend? How long since the last ceremony?’ Somehow Loki, suddenly calm and amicable, was the most terrifying of the three.

  ‘I – I – don’t know,’ Harald whispered. ‘I’ve been sailing. A year? Maybe … two?’ At the edge of his senses he felt the vision slowly start to unravel. ‘No! Don’t go! Tell me! What do I do?’

  Thor, Freya and Loki moved into the centre of the longhouse. United, they looked very much like a family.

  ‘Set your town to rights, Harald,’ Thor said.

  ‘For us. For me,’ Freya whispered.

  ‘I have given the men of Stenvik a chance to live your lives the way we intended. Take it … or face the consequences,’ Loki added, still smiling.

  The gods turned their backs on him, walked into the darkness and disappeared. Harald clenched his fists painfully hard as Valhalla faded from view.

  STENVIK

  Ulfar was numb.

  The packed earth wall at his back was cold to the touch, the grass he sat on was soft … but he knew it. He didn’t feel it. He had nothing but cold and detached information, from somewhere outside and above himself. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered.

  Geiri was dead.

  Ulfar leaned back and looked up at the stars. The steps up to the wall were just a few yards away, and for a moment he thought he might go up there, walk amongst the men on the night watch and try to make himself useful.

  And what good would that do?

  They were overmatched
. Sigurd knew it, Sven knew it. They were going to get overrun tomorrow and that would be the end of that. He’d seen death enough times by now, sure – but he always thought of it as something that would happen to other people. And still he felt nothing.

  He stared out into the middle distance, numb to the world.

  It took the heat from her body, the smell of her, the feel of her hair as she nestled against him, to make him react. As her arms pulled him into a soft embrace their bodies twined together instinctively, seeking strength in each other.

  Ulfar took a deep breath.

  Inside, emotions welled up. He clung to her and trembled silently, shook with the intensity of it as scalding tears flooded down his face. Her hands were on his head now, clutching him to her breast, stroking his hair, murmuring words that didn’t exist. Ulfar struggled to regain control, but everything he’d been a part of since arriving in Stenvik collapsed on him at once, demanding to be let out. And holding on to Lilia was so painfully sweet. He was equal parts proud and happy, mortified and ashamed to be crying in front of her, frightened and small and safe and loved.

  ‘Everything will be all right,’ she whispered. ‘It will all be right. We will live. Together. It will be all—’

  Three yards to their left, the body of a wall guard landed with a thud.

  ONBOARD THE NJORDUR’S MERCY

  Oraekja felt strange. Cold.

  Cold and heavy.

  His muscles did not seem to respond like they used to and his skin felt wrong. It felt almost like that time he’d been frostbitten on a hunting trip. Nothing but lumps, blocks of flesh.

  Her hand on his chest burned and stung, the feeling of it pumping through his veins. He could feel himself … swell … all over. Panic coursed through him and he wanted to thrash about, but couldn’t. Instead his eyes fluttered open.

  She sat beside him, eyes fixed on Stenvik. Her hand passed over his chest and she muttered under her breath, the words indistinguishable to his ears.