Forged by Iron

by Eric Schumacher

  We left when the sun was at its zenith and pulled the boat from the bay under oar. Despite the enormity of leaving the settlement behind, or mayhap because of it, none of us spoke. We simply watched it slip away.

  Beyond the bay was a narrow channel that ran northwest to southeast between Saaremaa and the island to our east, Muhu. Once in the channel, we pointed the ship's prow southeast, toward the mainland of Est. The wind was gusting and unpredictable in that waterway, and we agreed as a group that it might be wisest to keep the sail furled. Thankfully, Egil and Raban had some familiarity with rowing, as did I, so between us, we managed to get the others accustomed to the stroke.

  By early afternoon, we had rounded a tree-lined point and the ocean opened up before us into a vast gulf. Far off to the south was a distant shore. Closer in, to the east, was the mainland of the Est kingdom. Yet reaching either meant sailing across an expanse of windswept sea that I was not sure our crew was ready to handle. And so I chose to hang close to the shoreline on our right, which was the southern coast of Saaremaa.

  Soon the wind settled, and I ventured a go at the sail, for our crew was weary and needed a break from the oars. None of us had much experience with the rigging, but eventually we managed to hoist the heavy sail and trim it to the wind. It still flapped, but even so, the prow bit more deeply into the sea and gave us a much-needed chance to rest.

  Eventually the sky dimmed, and Egil worked his way back to me. “We should find a mooring,” he said. “We need some sleep. The children are already slumbering near the prow.”

  I was reluctant to stop, but I knew we must and so I nodded. “Lower the yard and furl the sail. Get Raban to help. Have the women row. When I find a cove that looks safe enough, I will pull in so we can sleep.”

  We found a cove as the blue in the sky deepened and stars began to dot the heavens. It was a shallow inlet protected on the seaboard side by a line of sand islands that curled around the cove's opening like a crooked finger. Across the cove, the beach was a confusing jumble of sand dunes and grassy wetlands and waterways that led to what appeared to be inland lakes. I saw no shelters or halls, nor did I detect the smell of smoke or livestock. Besides the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves on the seaboard side of the islands, all was quiet in that place.

  We anchored the ship in the bend of that protective finger and set about preparing a cold meal for the evening. Later, we shared sentry duty or tried to sleep. It was a useless endeavor for me. My mind was awash in thoughts that I could not dispel. They were like the waves rolling onto the islands that protected our ship, each with their own size and shape and force. Could we get to Prussia? What happened if there was another summer storm? Would we be capable of navigating it? What would happen if we encountered a warship on the way? Would we fight or try to evade? Could I endure thralldom again, or would I fight to the death? The questions rolled on until I finally sat up and rubbed my face as if to wipe them away.

  I rose and stepped over the sleeping forms until I reached the aft deck. There, I watched the summer night's light play on the cove's rolling waters. It was a pleasant night, calm and warm, and it set my mind at ease.

  “I could not sleep either,” I heard a voice confess softly. I turned to see Turid there, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She walked to my side and stared out at the cove. “It is so peaceful.”

  “Aye,” I admitted.

  “After our life with Heres, I wish to feel this peace every day.”

  I understood how she felt. Part of me yearned for it too. But I knew that this peace was not to be my life. I was fettered to the revenge I sought, and it would not resemble this place or this moment. If the Norns granted me my chance, it would be more like the chaos of Ragnarok.

  “I could leave you in Prussia,” I offered, half jokingly. “You could seek life in one of those Christian places for women.” I knew not the name for nunneries then, but I had heard some talk of them.

  She ribbed me with her elbow. “Mayhap I will return to the seter of Astrid's father, if it still exists. That would not be such a bad place to live.”

  “No,” I agreed, “it would not.” I wanted to add that I wished she would have stayed when she had the chance, but that felt hard and wrong at this moment, so I held my tongue. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, as if the very thought of peace made her cold. “If we make it through this, I will help you find such a place,” I said. “Though I think you would grow bored. You have too much of your father in you.” I winked at her.

  She smiled. “You are a good man, Torgil. Shy, but good.” I gawked at her and she giggled, then she leaned in, kissed my cheek, and walked away. My hand moved to the place her lips had just touched as my eyes followed her retreating form.

  Not long after, the morning dawned blue and cloudless and warm, with a gentle onshore breeze that carried with it the smell of the sea. A fine sailing day. We broke our fast on bread and water, our conversation hushed but excited. My friends were hopeful, as was I, if mayhap a bit frightened too.

  “Let us get under way,” I said as soon as the meal ended, and I worked my way back to the aft deck. I had just picked up a coil of rope to move it when Egil yelled, “Ships!”

  I looked in the direction he pointed and dropped the rope.

  Chapter 27

  Coming into the bay to our left were two sleek warships, their dragon-headed prows glistening with sunlit sea spray. They had seen us and were bearing down on us under oar.

  I cursed and yelled, “Shields and weapons!” I knew there was no way to outrun them.

  We scrambled for our gear, then lined the port wale. In the lead warship, helmed men filled the foredeck near the prow. Several lifted their spears to taunt us, though their cries were faint on the breeze. They did not look like Estlanders or Northmen, but what did it matter? They were coming to kill us all the same.

  I knew then that I was doomed, for I had no wish to be recaptured. I called to the others, “If you do not want to die this day, hand your weapons and shield to your neighbor and run. There is no shame in it.”

  Alrek and his young companions dropped their weapons and scampered over the steer board wale and onto the beach. I did not look back to watch them go, nor could I blame them. Only Alrek could wield a weapon, and his sling would be no use against byrnie-clad warriors and their shields.

  My mind raced back to my father and the instructions he had hammered into the young lads back on Jel so long ago. No gaps! Work together! Trust your neighbor! “Tighten up!” I shouted, and our shields moved together in the center of the knarr. I thought to employ the bows, but we had not had time to string them and now it was too late.

  The warships came on, their sloping prows, half a head taller than our own, carving through the sea like blades on skin. We would be fighting upward, while their ships' warriors would need only to rain their steel down upon our unprotected heads. They would make short work of their slaughter.

  The thought of it infuriated me. “Come on, you bastards!” I yelled.

  Onto the prow beam of the lead ship climbed a man in a glistening byrnie. His helm was conical and worked itself into a point from which a plume of hair exploded and danced on the wind behind his head. It was not a helmet I had seen before. He held his sword aloft and pointed it in our direction, like a god commanding his minions to strike. At any moment, he would command his ship to slow and slide up next to ours so that they could fight us broadside. I tensed and gripped my blade tighter.

  When the prow man did finally call out, it was not with the words I expected to hear. “Halt!” he yelled.

  The oarsmen drove their sweeps into the sea and hung on tightly. In the prow, the warriors lurched, and more than a few, including the man on the prow beam, nearly pitched into the sea. The trailing ship veered off to port, its steer board oars narrowly missing the aft beam of the lead ship as it rolled sideways and away. Thinking their intention was to capture us rather than fight, I lowered my shield, brandished my sea
x, and yelled at them. “Fight us, you cowards!”

  But they did not. The warships glided to a stop some twenty paces from our gunwale, the warriors regarding us silently.

  “Is that Torgil Torolvson I see? And Turid too?” called the man from the prow of the lead ship.

  I lowered my sword and glanced at Turid. The confusion on her face was as great as my own. “Who are you?” I called.

  He pulled the shining helmet from his head, and there stood Olaf before us, hale and vibrant and smiling from ear to ear.

  A man with straight red hair pulled into a ponytail appeared beside him. “Thor's hairy balls, Olaf. What is the meaning of this? Why did we stop? Your careless command could have been the end of both of my ships.” His face was as red as his hair.

  Olaf's smiled vanished. He pointed to our ship. “Those,” he said loud enough for us to hear, “are my friends: Torgil —-” he pointed his sword at me, then moved it to Turid —- “and Turid. The rest are the thralls with whom I lived and worked these past summers.”

  The man gazed at us, and I could see a resemblance to Astrid and to his father, Erik. And for the first time in days — mayhap months — I laughed.

  “These are Sigurd's ships,” Olaf explained with a jerk of his chin toward the tall, red-haired man who stood surveying the gaunt, wretched thralls who had escaped with me. Olaf reclined against the aft wale with a grin on his face, looking more like a man to me with his soft whiskers and fine tunic than ever before. Behind me, the others enjoyed the food and ministrations of Olaf's crew, giving us some time to speak alone. “I convinced Sigurd to come for you,” Olaf said with his eyes on his uncle, “but he does not know that. He thinks I have come for the markets hereabouts that are lucrative, yet are not paying their share in taxes to the prince in Holmgard. And he thinks there is one man who is responsible for it, as well as for the enslavement of his sister.”

  “Klerkon,” I guessed.

  His grin stretched. “Klerkon. Aye. The bastard who killed your father and raped and sold my mother. The man who threw us into the cesspit of thralldom.”

  “Could you not have explained all of this to Sigurd when he found you last summer?” I asked a bit too sourly. “He might have come then. It would have spared us months of misery and the deaths of Pipin and Herkus.”

  His expression sobered. “There is nothing in the world that would have pleased me more, Torgil, than to rescue you all from Heres last summer,” he said, and I believed him. “But I simply could not have then. I was newly found and had no leverage with my uncle. You are important to me, but to speak plainly, your family is not known to him and he is oath-sworn to a leader who has far greater issues to contend with. It took many conversations to convince him of the wealth of these markets and the guilt of Klerkon.” He smoothed an errant strand of hair behind his ear, and for the first time, I noticed the gold ring that hung from his lobe.

  “What's that?”

  Olaf fingered the earring. “It is nothing. Just a little trinket I purchased in Holmgard.”

  “A gold ring is not nothing, nor is it a little trinket,” I remarked suspiciously. I thought Olaf might tell me it was a gift from his uncle, or that he had earned it doing some great deed. I did not expect the answer he gave.

  “Every Viking who comes to Holmgard wears one. It is to pay for my burial, should something befall me. Sigurd loaned me the coins to purchase it.”

  “Oh,” I said, taken aback at first by the unexpected response, though I quickly recovered. “I hope you can repay it before you fall.”

  Olaf frowned. “I do not plan to fall,” he responded haughtily.

  I grinned. “No one plans to fall. Anyway,” I switched the subject, “how long have you been in Estland?”

  Olaf's brows furrowed. “We arrived half a moon ago. Our original plan was to come for you, then to sail for the market at Saaremaa and find Klerkon there. But weather delayed us. So instead, we headed for the market and struck.” He grinned wolfishly. “Sigurd was well pleased with the booty and the information we gathered. Sadly, we missed Heres. It would have been a pleasure to kill that fat bastard. But it turns out that he did not escape danger. You left little of him or his family to find.”

  “They deserved it,” I spat.

  “They did,” observed Olaf. He leaned closer. “I hope you took some of his wealth before you razed his place.”

  “We have some,” I answered cagily, then switched the subject. “Have you found Klerkon?” I asked. “And what of your mother? Have you heard of her whereabouts?”

  “We have not seen Klerkon, but we know where he lives. It took a little doing, but we eventually found a few Estlanders who were willing to tell us of his whereabouts.” His eyes shifted to his leg. “Of my mother we have heard nothing.”

  I could hear the sadness in his voice. I was sad, too. She, like Olaf, had been my charge and as close as family. It pained me greatly to think she might still be alive somewhere, serving some master, yet I could not afford to dwell on it. Not until Klerkon was in his grave. I forced my thoughts back to the present. “Where is Klerkon?” I asked.

  “Close,” Olaf confirmed, then held up his hand. “But we will talk of it later with Sigurd. Tell me how you came to be here. Part of it, I can guess. But why here?”

  I told him my horrid tale, starting with the plan that formed in my mind and ending with our escape. When it was told, Olaf clapped his hands together and hooted. “It is a remarkable story. I am proud of you, Torgil. I just wish I could have been there to see those swine breathe their last breaths. So where were you headed when we found you?”

  “To Prussia,” I mumbled, though I knew not why. Mayhap because I was afraid of the reaction I knew would come, and come it did.

  Olaf laughed. “Prussia? Why?”

  The heat rose in my cheeks, but it was not due to embarrassment. I was angry that Olaf would so callously disregard my words without understanding my reasons. “To return Raban, Sigdag, and the children to their homes,” I said a bit too bitterly. “Would you not have done the same?”

  He snorted and scrunched his face as if I were addle-brained. “No. I would not have. I would have sailed straight to Holmgard, with or without them.” He relaxed back against the aft wale. It seemed he had grown in Sigurd's court, both in his body and his maturity. He was no longer a boy; he was a young man trying to make his way in the world. And he, like me, had been honed and whittled down by his thralldom. It remained to be seen what sort of man he had become, though I knew even then that I would need to readjust my thinking toward him.

  “I gave Raban, Sigdag, and the children my word,” I explained.

  Olaf shrugged. “Your word no longer counts. The way I see it, these are Sigurd's ships, and he makes the call now. Which puts you in a predicament, Torgil. You can join Sigurd in our hunt for Klerkon, or you can refuse and sail with your crew to Prussia.”

  The smile on his face tore open every wound from our childhood. I wanted nothing more in that instant than to rip that smug expression from his face and for him to know that he was not as powerful as he thought he was, even with the backing of his uncle. Yet I also knew he was right — sailing to Prussia was folly and this hunt for Klerkon was the perfect excuse to rid myself of my promise. Stronger still was my hunger to kill Klerkon for the death of my father and all that had come after. And so, with those thoughts clawing at my mind, I acquiesced. “I will need you or Sigurd to explain the new plan.”

  Olaf smiled. “I am glad you have found your way to reason.”

  A short time later, Sigurd gathered together the ex-thralls, including the children, who had come back aboard when they saw no fighting. Olaf stood by his uncle's side, helping him translate into the Estland tongue. The other crewmembers hung off to the side. Anyone of them looked armed enough and capable enough to kill us all.

  “My nephew,” he began, motioning to Olaf, “has told me of your plight. It is good luck that we have found you. Our plan here in Estland is simple. We are
here to take what riches are due to Grand Prince Sviatoslav in Novgorod —- the place we Northmen call Holmgard. And we are here to kill a slave trader named Klerkon, whom I believe you all know. When that is done, we will sail home. You may join us or you may go. If you go, you go by foot from here. We can provide weapons and food, but that is all. The knarr comes with us.”

  As Olaf translated, storm clouds broke on the faces of Raban and Sigdag, who looked at me. “I suppose you will be sailing with Olaf and his lord?” Though Sigurd did not understand the Est language, he heard the accusation in Raban's question and frowned.

  I nodded. “I made an oath long ago to Olaf's father that I must keep. And I have vowed to avenge the death of my father, who died by Klerkon's blade. Did Klerkon not catch you, too? And you, Sigdag?”

  This caught Raban off guard, and he shut his mouth. He looked at Sigdag and the three children who stood nearby. Finally, he nodded, as if confirming my question and coming to some sort of an agreement with himself all at once. “I will go with you,” he said to Lord Sigurd in the Est tongue. “But in Holmgard, I will seek passage home.”

  When Olaf translated, Sigurd turned his gaze to Sigdag and Egil. They nodded in turn.

  “So be it,” replied Sigurd.

  “So where do we find Klerkon?” I asked Sigurd. “Where is he hiding?”

  Olaf indicated to an older man I had not seen before. He was standing among the Rus warriors, his hands bound before him. His straight silver hair fell to his back and partially covered his thin face, which showed several cuts and bruises. It was a familiar face, though I could not place it exactly. “We have found someone who knows. Juhan, here, used to fight for Klerkon. You might remember him? In any case, Juhan tells us that Klerkon lives just inland from a place called Viltina, which is southwest of here along the coast.”