“She needs to spend more time on learning to rule or whatever,” Ostryg grumbled. “And maybe learn about how to crush assassin families that live in your own town.”
“Aren’t you trained as an assassin? Why can’t you do the crushing?” Skeggi asked.
Ostryg scoffed. “Papa didn’t train me. He knows I hate his little white guts. He’ll put a knife in my back if I look at him cross-eyed.”
A well-worn cart-road led down a long hill, skirting the spruce forest. But they left the wide, comfortable road to follow a narrow, overgrown track deep into the forest – not an easy way, but that was why Thora liked to walk it. She enjoyed the solitude of nature, and it was easier to be solitary when the road was hard. She often had favor-seekers following her everywhere – but not down this road. It was too dangerous.
Skeggi didn’t blame her.
Smoke had crawled under his long hair to take an owl nap, but now she came back out to his shoulder to see what was going on. She loved the forest. He did too.
The fog still hung among the trees in the spruce forest, and the four sword-friends followed the overgrown path toward the cabin. Skeggi figured that this skinny path was all that was left of the original cart-road that led to the mead hall. He imagined how it might have looked back in the old days, when casks of mead piled in carts had clattered through these silent woods. He imagined Vikings in need of lodging walking this road, or glittering war parties riding their horses. But those days were long gone. The glory of olden days, where hath it fled? Skeggi thought grandiloquently.
Skeggi ducked around spruce branches that hung in his path, or dodged brambles that had taken over the path, or climbed over large branches that had fallen across the way, with a crop of mushrooms and lichen growing out of its loose bark.
“I’m glad you like the fog,” Ostryg said. “Papa likes this weather too. Screams don’t travel as far in fog, he says.”
“I never asked for his opinion,” Skeggi muttered, listening for any sound from the forest around him. The everlasting roll of the waves from the ocean several miles away covered many noises. Also, the moisture in the air had softened all the dry spruce needles and twigs on the ground so they wouldn’t be as effective in alerting them to an intruder’s footsteps.
“Quiet,” Dyrfinna said gruffly, her voice suddenly coming from above.
At some point, when Skeggi wasn’t looking, Dyrfinna had perched herself atop a line of big boulders that overlooked the forest. She was always sober, always businesslike, always sullen—more so now. Skeggi suppressed an exasperated sigh. Their love was not one for the ages—well, okay, maybe hers was. But his was not. At least she understood that, and she let him go when he’d asked her to … though she’d decked him first.
“Dyrfinna is certainly bright and sunny today,” Ostryg muttered to Skeggi.
Skeggi felt his mouth tug in a smile, but he suppressed it. “You heard the woman. Quiet.”
Smoke straightened on his shoulder, her head swiveling to stare at something in the fog. She sat very still, with not a ruffle of a single feather.
“Shh,” Skeggi whispered. He peered out into the fog to see what his owl was looking at, but only the dark shadows of nearby trees showed through the soft gray fog.
Gefjun looked around her, placing her hand on her sword hilt. “I heard something,” she whispered.
“It was a pine marten, probably,” Ostryg muttered.
“Wait. Where’d Dyrfinna go?” Gefjun gasped.
Skeggi looked up at her rock. It was empty. No Dyrfinna crouching on top. He whirled around but there was no sign of her, no flicker of movement in the fog.
“How does she vanish like that?” he asked himself.
Just then, a scream ripped through the fog.
At once, the three were stumbling toward the sound. His little owl sprang from his shoulder and flew ahead of him on silent wings. Skeggi was fighting to pull his sword, wishing he’d brought his spear on this expedition. He’d been meaning to fix it, but his brothers had been pulling him every which way lately and he’d just never had time.
He stumbled to a stop before he crashed into Dyrfinna. He flung his arms wide as Ostryg and Gefjun came running up, and managed to stop them before they plowed into the scene ahead of them.
“What are you doing?” he cried.
Dyrfinna stood over a girl about their age who curled in the forest duff, her short red hair now dusted with spruce needles. The girl’s hands were upraised against Dyrfinna’s sword, the tip of which hovered over the hollow of her throat.
“Who are you, trying to sneak into our city?” Dyrfinna asked the girl. “We’re under threat of invasion, which we take very seriously here.”
“Get your sword out of my throat,” the girl choked.
“Do any of you recognize her?” Dyrfinna demanded of her friends, her eyes never leaving the girl’s.
Skeggi exhaled. “Finna, put the sword down.”
“I’m not Danish,” the girl spat. “And if you kill me I’m fine with it, because I’d rather die than go back to the Danes, who, may I add, are getting ready to attack your city.”
“Odin’s tears, Finna, let her up,” Skeggi said. “Let her up. Don’t take it all out on her.”
Ostryg snorted as if amused.
Dyrfinna’s face grew red and her lips parted with anger as her eyes met Skeggi’s. “Don’t take what out on her?”
Skeggi looked away from Dyrfinna, not bothering to answer the question, back at the girl. He didn’t think Dyrfinna’s caution was necessary. The girl wore ragged clothing too large for her. An array of old ropes fashioned into belts held her clothes on in the appropriate places. The snarl of red hair on her head had been cut short with a sword or a knife, leaving the edges very ragged. She sported a black eye and cheekbone that was discolored yellow.
“Look at her,” he said. “She’s not a Dane. She’s just a thrall girl who’d escaped from somewhere.”
The girl’s eyes flashed. “A thrall girl?” she whispered.
Dyrfinna still stared at him. Then she removed the sword, not once turning her eyes from his, skewering him the whole time with her stare. “Okay,” she said as she stepped back. “Okay. See what she gives you, then.”
Immediately the girl was on her feet, and steel flashed in her hand. Her face turned from person to person quickly, like a snake trying to choose which assailant she should strike first.
“Shh,” Skeggi said. “Peace. I am Skeggi of Skala. Who are you?”
The girl sprang at Skeggi. Before he could react, she swung with the pommel of her knife. He saw a flash of light. The next thing he knew, he hit the ground. The air was knocked out of his lungs.
Looking at the sideways world, gasping for air, he watched a young woman run about five steps before Dyrfinna came flying in like the goddess Freyja at war and brought the girl down again.
Skeggi grimaced when Dyrfinna crashed into the girl. She’d knocked him down like that a week ago, when he’d told her that they should see other people. He wanted to tell Dyrfinna that she needed to take it easy, but he didn’t feel like getting knocked down yet again.
He got up on his hands and knees, choking for breath. Ostryg stooped and patted him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I think the girl likes you,” he said.
“Shut. Up.” Skeggi decided that getting up was overrated. He lay back down again and wheezed for a while.
“See, if she didn’t like you, you’d be lying here with her knife sticking out of your chest,” Ostryg explained, standing over him. “Instead, all you have is a really ugly goose egg over your eye.”
“And his life,” Gefjun added archly.
“He called me a thrall girl,” the girl spat from under Dyrfinna’s knee.
“He didn’t know any better,” Gefjun said soothingly. “Finna, seriously, you really don’t have to throw people around like this.”
“You should probably kill her,” Ostryg said matter-of-factly. “I bet a gold piece she
’s a spy.”
“If that gold piece is from your papa, then you’re betting a gold-covered iron piece,” Gefjun said dryly.
“You children stand here joking when an invading force is coming in,” the girl said.
“It’s possible that you’re a spy,” Dyrfinna said. “And yes, we are expecting an invasion. So forgive me if my methods are a little rough,” she added to the girl.
“I’m not a spy. You don’t need to treat me this way,” said the girl, sullen. “I’m escaping.”
“Do tell,” Ostryg said. “And what, pray tell, are you escaping?”
Skeggi, finally able to suck some air back into his lungs, pulled himself to a sitting position. “Let her speak, Ostryg.”
Just then, from out of the forest his little owl came swooping in. He seldom heard Smoke approach as her wings were soundless. Owls’ wings were feathered for silent flying at night to catch their prey unawares. She landed on his shoulder on a piece of soft leather he’d sewn into his coat ages ago. Even through the leather, he felt the tight grip of her talons, and the prick of a sharpened claw through the leather and cloth alike.
“I’m glad to see you,” he whispered to her.
But the girl’s eyes were fixed on the owl, washing her suspicion away into a look of tenderness. But the suspicion returned. “What kind of magic trick is this? It’s a cruel trick, to make the owl serve in thralldom to you,” she said scornfully.
Skeggi frowned. “What kind of thralldom is this?” he asked. He gently rubbed the owl on top of the head. The owl shut her golden eyes and purred.
“Why don’t you tell us about the invasion force,” Dyrfinna said to the girl.
“Maybe you could ask her name first,” Skeggi said.
“What is your name?” Dyrfinna asked.
“I don’t have one,” she said miserably.
“How do you not have a name?” Gefjun asked in wonder.
“A disgusting hog – I can’t call him a man – took my name from me. By magic. I am nameless,” she said in disgust.
“Our city is Skala. Just so you know where we are,” Skeggi told her. “Maybe we can get you back home to your family?”
“My city was destroyed,” she said dully. “My family was murdered.”
Skeggi thought of her among the fire, being cruelly treated by the Danes. His blood ran cold. “I’m sorry,” he said. “May the Eternals grant them rest.”
“It was the burning of Almarr,” she said.
Dyrfinna turned at once. “You were there?” she asked, astonished. “And these Danes, who are invading us right now, are the same Danes who burned that city?”
“Yes.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes.
Dyrfinna’s eyes went wide. “We need to get to Thora. Fast.”
Skeggi knew Dyrfinna understood what the girl had told her. She kept up on all the battle histories of every military movement from here to Iceland, wherever possible. And from her reaction, he knew this was very, very bad news.
“What are you going to do with this girl?”
“Come with us,” Skeggi said. “We can take you to safety.”
Dyrfinna frowned. But then she started walking, leading them quickly through the forest. The other sword-friends followed as quickly as they were able.
9
Cornered
“Question,” Skeggi asked as he trotted along at the girl’s side. “Do you expect that Skala, my city, is going to survive this invasion?”
“No,” the girl said quietly. “And I’d rather not go into your city. Because I don’t expect to survive. When they find me again, they will torture me to death.”
Skeggi’s stomach bottomed out.
“I’d rather take my chances out in the forest,” the girl said. “I’ll dig in under some spruce trees. Hide in a hole in the ground. But I’m not going to go into that city where I’ll be trapped like a dog and killed by some laughing Dane.”
She was shaking like a leaf. His heart went out to her.
“It’s not safe out here,” he said.
“It’s not safe in there. I assure you,” she said, and her eyes were beginning to leak tears as she spoke.
Dyrfinna threw a hand out at them. “Shh,” she whispered, quickly looking up the path where the girl had come. “We have company.”
Skeggi heard a quiet sound, the crisp of needles. Only that.
“A squirrel.” Ostryg said.
Skeggi shook his head.
“I need to run,” the girl hissed. “Let me go. Now.”
“Stay with us,” Skeggi said. “We’ll defend you.”
“You don’t understand. I’m being pursued by the scum who calls me his,” the girl said fiercely. “If he catches me, I want one of you to kill me at once.”
That silenced everybody.
“I don’t care how you kill me or how long it takes,” she added. “But you have to kill me.”
“Why?” Skeggi asked.
The girl met his eyes. Her black eye in the shadows of the spruces looked even worse, an ugly yellow and grey around her eye and cheekbone and down part of her face. “The man who said I belonged to him is named Iron Skull.”
Skeggi felt as if he’d been punched in the guts.
Iron Skull was the leader of the Danes. Some said he was half-troll, half-human. He had burned cities to the ground and left a trail of death in his wake. Some said he ate the warriors he killed and drank blood on the battlefield.
“Iron Skull is here?” Dyrfinna asked. “Ye gods.”
“Are you serious?” Gefjun said. “That’s terrible! I can’t believe you survived.”
“I won’t survive if he finds me,” the girl said, looking at the ground, her words fading with her breath.
Gefjun moved in. “Come with me,” she told the girl. “We’ll get you out of here. But we need to leave, now.”
Skeggi heard a sudden “Shh!” some distance back in the forest. His stomach knotted.
“Move,” Dyrfinna said in a low voice. “Our objective right now is not to fight. Keep going, as quietly as possible. You too,” she added to the girl. “Let’s get out of range of those guys. Then we figure out the next step.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Gefjun hissed. “Now move!”
They hurried through the forest behind Dyrfinna. Gefjun was talking to the girl in a low voice. “This is my work knife. My papa gave it to me when I was 11. If that man finds you, and all is lost, come to me.”
“You’re not seriously swearing that to her,” Skeggi said, shocked. “You’re a healer.”
“Yes, I am,” Gefjun said quietly.
But the girl stayed close to her side – and she wasn’t fighting Gefjun or running away from her.
Skeggi slipped through the forest behind his friends. So now we have to take care of an escaped thrall girl, or whatever she wants to call herself, he thought, and we might possibly have an armed force following at our heels as we go to rescue ….
Oh, great eternal All-Father.
They were taking an escaped thrall girl they knew nothing about, and leading an armed enemy force, to Thora’s mead-hall. The queen’s daughter.
He hurried forward to talk to Dyrfinna. She took one look at him and somehow started walking faster than she was already walking.
Very low, he said, “Whoever is following us, we are leading them straight to Thora.”
Smoke, on his shoulder, fluttered her wings restlessly and turned her head completely around to look behind. Gefjun, who was directly behind them, also looked.
“I’m working on that,” Dyrfinna hissed irritably. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a concern. They’re too close.”
Skeggi looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, no,” he whispered.
Through gaps in the trees, Skeggi saw them, far below on the hill … a glimpse of Danes slipping through the spruces toward them.
Once, he’d seen the ghost of a hateful imp with a stretched, deformed face. It stood unmoving, staring a
t him from far away, The sight of these Danes through the trees lit terror in him in the same way.
Out of the fog came a line of men, shoulder to shoulder in the thick spruce forest.
Skeggi gripped his sword and looked over at the girl, whose face had melted from determination, drooping into sadness and terror.
What if they got killed? What if their mission failed before it began? And then the girl would have to endure her torture for a second time at their hands.
And then Skeggi thought of his own brothers back in the city. What were they going to do without him? He hadn’t even done the daily fishing for them – it was something he was going to do today after sword lessons because food was running low. So who was going to fish for his brothers? Ragnarr certainly wasn’t going to do it.
And Ragnarr wasn’t going to take care of their brothers if Skeggi died.
The Danes began to advance through the woods, walking an arm-length apart in a long line of helm-obscured faces. Their eyes glared out through the slits in the helmets, and their ragged grinning mouths all he could see of their features.
The girl made a moan, the whites of her eyes showing, her mouth in a square. “They are coming for us all,” she moaned.
“Quick,” Dyrfinna said, pointing ahead. “Get to the top of that rise before they do. Go!”
Everybody raced up a slope onto a small rise, choked with trees. “It’s possible that some of them could sneak around behind us,” Dyrfinna muttered to herself, “but,” she glanced over her shoulder, “there are fifteen men that I can count behind us. I can keep track of fifteen … maybe. What I’m worried about –” she drew her sword “—is if there are any additional forces following them. Perhaps this is just a search party.”
“I hope so,” Skeggi murmured, drawing his sword as well. “Fly, Smoke, fly,” he whispered to his owl, using his chin to nudge the owl off his shoulder. “Fly somewhere where you can be safe.” Smoke nipped him on the chin in protest, but opened her wings and flew off, complaining in short little chirps.
A Whisper of Smoke Page 5
