by Susan Wright
“It is Jens!” I agreed. Not the overlord, but the overlord’s generous young son.
I pulled Silveta to her feet, and she waved and called out to Jens. He stood on the side of the ship, holding on to the prow. In spite of her Skraeling parka and pants, he recognized Silveta. Perhaps it was the spill of her golden hair, or it could have been something more.
“Thank the gods, it is him,” Silveta exclaimed. In her voice I heard the wonder she felt.
Twenty-three
When the boat landed, Silveta’s first words were, “You’ve come to save me yet again, Jens?”
I understood why she was overwhelmed by the sight of him. None of her own family had helped her, but this young man had come to her rescue, looking so proud. From his gauntlets to his plumed helm, he was magnificent. He wore a silver chest plate with links of chain mail sheathing his arms and thighs. His sword and shield looked as if they had seen some wear, even if it had been only in training sessions.
“Freya Silveta, you were promised a warband by my father, the overlord,” Jens said formally, yet with a glint in his eye. “I am here to deliver it to your service.”
“But your father denied me.”
“I am fulfilling the promise he made you,” Jens assured her. “These men are in my employ.”
Silveta’s eyes shone. “You’ve proven yourself truer than any man in Viinland.”
“I’ve been waiting for your return,” Jens assured her. “I’ve kept my men encamped in the islands. When my sentries reported there was fighting on the waterfront, I knew it must be your doing.”
Lexander nodded to Jens, vastly relieved. “Birgir and his men are holed up in the estate. We’ve attacked with the townsfolk and a warband of Skraeling, but we can’t get inside.”
Jens’ hired men had disembarked and were lining up for the march through the town to the estate. I counted eighty men, all in good condition and wearing strong breastplates and helms. Their axes looked very sharp, and they grunted to each other, posturing in preparation for battle. These mercenaries seemed rather cheerful over the prospect. The docks couldn’t be spied from the estate because of the hills that lay between, but Birgir must have seen the ships sailing in and knew a mighty warband had landed.
“We were just about to ram down the front gate to get inside,” Lexander added.
“But Birgir’s men are dropping stones to drive everyone away,” Silveta protested.
Lexander was not concerned. “The Skraelings can shoot anyone who shows his head.”
Silveta was clearly worried about Jens, just as I feared that Lexander wouldn’t survive the fighting. “Can’t Jens claim he’s an emissary from the overlord?” Silveta asked. “Perhaps Birgir would let them inside.”
Lexander considered it, but the olfs showed me that was a massacre in the waiting. “No,” I protested. “Birgir is under siege. He won’t let down his guard for anyone.”
Jens agreed. “No fighting man would. We will make a frontal assault, and I’ve brought the men to do it.”
Silveta wrung her hands but didn’t gainsay her savior. I added, “We must warn the townsfolk or they may try to fight you off.”
“And the Skraelings,” Silveta added. But I knew the olfs had already told them help was on the way.
Jens grinned. “You go first to tell them reinforcements have arrived. They can follow my warband inside the estate.”
Silveta was standing so close to him that they could have kissed. But she was too shy in front of all the mercenaries. Lexander and I exchanged a glance, knowing that that wouldn’t have stopped us. Suddenly, we were in accord again. I slipped my hand into his and felt him squeeze mine tightly.
“Take care of her,” Jens told Lexander, his eyes only for Silveta.
“I will,” Lexander swore.
We alerted Torgils and the townsfolk, who let out glad cries at the news. Amaruq nodded shortly when his part in the attack was described. The olfs had shown me that some Skraelings had died when they tried to breach the palisade in the rear. They would be in danger again, but they were sorely needed. The townsfolk separated to take their places, awaiting the arrival of Jens and his warband.
Lexander remained with me and Silveta, which was a relief to both of us. We watched from a low roof where he had lifted us for safety. We could see the main street leading to the estate, and from one corner was a view of the gate.
Jens came striding up the road, looking like a true conqueror. A boy ran along next to him, carrying the banner with the overlord’s crest quartered with Jen’s seabird signet.
Torgils had left the two stout logs in the lane for the Viinland mercenaries. They were tied around with rope, with long lines for the men to hold. A full dozen men picked up each log, standing side by side. The Skraelings stayed hidden out of sight.
Jens formed his men behind those with the battering rams, then called out, “Forward!”
As his warband crossed the open space around the palisade, Birgir’s warriors peered over the top. There were more of them now than before. One large rock was thrown down, striking against the helm of a Viinland mercenary.
The Skraelings took that as a signal and began to fire their arrows. Cries came from behind the palisade, and soon no heads lifted above the protecting wood. But Birgir’s men continued to throw rocks over, aiming them to land in front of the gate.
Jens shouted a command and other mercenaries rushed forward, protecting the men with the battering rams by holding their shields overhead. The rain of rocks sounded like an avalanche.
But Jens’ men moved forward steadily despite the assault. Every time one fell, another quickly took his place.
Silveta’s eyes were wide. “Oh, Jens! Stay back,” she murmured.
But the valiant young man was in the thick of things, directing his men. The early-morning sun shone off his helm, polished to a mirror.
The battering rams were quickly positioned and soon the rhythmic pounding drowned out the sound of rocks hitting their metal armor. Each log was aimed against one half of the gate. The mercenaries let the logs swing far back, then drove them forward into the stout fortress.
“It’s bowing,” I exclaimed. Indeed, light could be seen between the two halves of the gate.
Jens urged his men on, and their shouts rose. A splintering sound shattered the morning as the great timbers of the gate strained under the beating.
As if in response, more rocks showered down from above. The Skraelings let loose their arrows in a constant stream, sending them arching over the palisade and down behind. The screams within told their own story. Some of the arrows stuck into the top where they didn’t quite surmount the palisade. The olfs told me the Thule would soon be out of arrows and then Birgir’s men would be free to give their missiles deadly aim.
“It’s not working,” Silveta cried, trying to see Jens in the midst of the milling mercenaries.
“No, they’re breaking through,” Lexander insisted.
With a mighty heave of the ram, one half of the gate broke at its hinges, sagging drunkenly. Another few strokes and it broke completely, swiveling on its remaining hinge and the heavy crossbar that locked it from within.
Jens shouted, “That’s it, men! Break it down!”
They rammed against the gate harder now that success was assured. Suddenly the fall of rocks ceased. The olfs told me there was confusion within, but Birgir was likely rallying his men into defensive positions. The warlord would not give up so easily.
With a terrible ripping sound, as if a huge tree were toppling over, the mercenaries smashed the gate down.
“They’re through!” Silveta exclaimed. “No, Jens, don’t—” Jens was one of the first over the splintered remnants as his men poured inside the estate in a rush. A fresh rain of rocks fell down, and the mercenaries held their shields over their heads to protect themselves. But the Skraelings also rushed forward, and aimed their last arrows through the open gate directly into the mass of men on the scaffolding at the top of
the palisade.
Shouts filled the air as Birgir’s men fell back under the onslaught. It was a complete melee, with axes clashing against shields and men falling from the scaffolding.
We watched breathlessly as Jens’ mercenaries pushed Birgir’s warriors ever deeper into the estate. Torgils and the townsfolk rushed through the gate when it was clear. Their shouts and brandished pitchforks seemed all the more fearsome.
“Are they winning?” Silveta gasped.
“The first battle, yes,” Lexander agreed. “But there are many warriors inside that estate.”
Sometime during the struggle, Lexander’s arm had gone around my shoulders, and he didn’t let go. I snuggled in close, knowing how much he had feared for me while we were separated. Though he had been the one in battle, he had worried about me.
He silently kissed the top of my head, pressing his face into my hair. I felt the copper collar around his wrist digging into my arm.
Silveta was engrossed in trying to see through the gate, but the fighting had moved deeper behind the wall. The only sight left was the forlorn forms of men lying in their own blood. “What is happening?” Silveta cried impatiently. “I can’t bear this.”
She moved as if to jump down and run into the estate, but Lexander held her back. “ ’Tis too dangerous for you. With you as hostage, Birgir could still win this battle.”
Silveta was in agony, holding her hands to her mouth in shock. I took a deep breath and humbly asked the olfs for a glimpse of the fighting inside. They responded, though many had been driven away from the estate by the ferocious killing.
Birgir had retreated with his closest bondsmen to the fire hall to make his last stand. Through my communion with the olfs, I watched as the great doors were soon battered open. They were fighting in such close quarters I couldn’t tell the mercenaries from Birgir’s warriors.
Then I saw Niall being backed into the fire hall. He fought beside Birgir, a wild grin on his face. The evil had taken him completely, and he laughed as he dealt death to the mercenaries with his ax.
I gasped as Torgils rose before Niall, afraid the good bondsman would be struck down. But Torgils parried Niall’s strikes, ignoring his berserker rage. I silently begged the olfs not to flee the fray but to help Silveta’s bondsman. She would loathe losing another loyal man to Birgir’s madness.
One olf, smaller than the rest, heeded my pleas. It darted in and tangled itself in Niall’s feet. As the dark-haired man went down, disbelief in his face, Torgils moved in. With a swipe of his ax, he split Niall nearly in two. Torgils’ expression was grim, as if he disliked his duty but knew it must be done.
“They’re in the fire hall!” I could see Niall’s death spasms, his teeth bared in agony. “Niall has been killed by Torgils.”
Silveta grabbed my arm hard. “Jens! Where is Jens?”
I stared into the sky, seeing only what lay within the fire hall. Torgils joined Jens, who was facing down Birgir himself. One of their mercenaries protected Jens’ other side. Together the three of them pressed their advantage.
Birgir seemed to grow larger by the moment, swelling from the power of the evil within him. His weapons sparked fire as they landed against his attackers’ swords. The man seemed to have no thought of defeat. Nay, he shouted his defiance in their face. “I am Chieftain of Markland! I will take your wives and daughters for my own pleasure!”
For a moment, I thought the evil that possessed him was too strong. Birgir leaped to the dais, swinging his ax in broad swaths, striking the mercenary and taking him down.
I almost could not recognize Jens—he was no longer a boy. Birgir’s ax glanced off the strong chain mail on his arm, bruising but not cutting through. Jens didn’t let that stop him. He risked certain death by leaping within Birgir’s reach, slashing the big man’s legs with his sword. Torgils shoved Jens aside at the last moment, preventing Birgir’s ax from splitting his head in two.
Birgir roared in pain as his legs buckled underneath him. Torgils caught his ax on his own, hooking the blade to keep the warlord from swinging it against Jens. Jens righted himself and brought his own ax down on Birgir’s bowed shoulders. The blade bit deeply into Birgir’s neck.
The blood seemed to fill my own eyes, as Birgir slowly toppled. He rolled as he landed, looking up at the youth who had beaten him. His tongue protruded, and I could see the evil light in his eyes long after his inua began to fade. The spark of Kristna embraced his inua and carried it away. So the god had truly dwelled in Birgir, yet it had not been powerful enough to resist the evil that had infested him. As terrible as the sight was, at least it would replace that indelible image of Birgir’s gloating face as he raped me.
“Birgir’s dead!” I gasped.
The olfs couldn’t stand such noxious matters and my vision of the fire hall vanished. I could still see Birgir’s eyes, though, and knew I always would. The evil that had infested him had been strong enough to bring a nation to its knees. But we had prevailed.
“Is it true?” Silveta cried. “Oh, by the mercy of all the gods, say it is true!”
I sagged against Lexander, ravaged from my contact with the olfs under such a terrible onslaught. He held me tenderly, murmuring words of love that soothed my sore spirit.
When Jens finally returned, his grim expression made him look more like his father. Silveta cried out, clutching my arm in fear. I also trembled, wondering if somehow worse was yet to come.
But Jens brightened when he saw Silveta. “It is done,” he quietly declared.
Apparently the violence had changed Jens. The olfs stayed at a distance. They could feel the difference in him. Jens had been their favored child, but he had dealt death today and that left a taint in his spirit. I knew it would take time for him to be truly cleansed from his deeds this day.
Silveta jumped from the roof into Jens’ arms. She clung to him as Lexander lightly dropped down, lifting me off himself. His hands around my waist made me feel safe.
“Birgir is truly dead?” Silveta asked.
“Yes, though it’s not a fair sight for your eyes. I’ve ordered a mass grave dug for the warlord and his men in the hillside beyond. They don’t deserve an honorable burning.”
“I need to see him,” Silveta declared.
I nodded agreement, too choked to speak.
Jens protested, but Lexander took one look at us and declared, “They must see him, Jens. Take us there.”
Puffed up in his newfound manliness, Jens would have tried to protect us. But he couldn’t withstand Lexander. “ ’Tis on your head,” he warned Lexander.
Jens led us into the estate. I gasped on seeing the dead and writhing wounded littering the ground. Birgir’s warriors were left slaughtered where they lay, while Skraelings and the mercenaries tended their own.
I didn’t see Amaruq, but I ran up to his son. “How many did we lose?”
“Eight of our own have departed for the Otherworld.”
“Amaruq?” I cried, wishing I had thought to ask the olfs to help the generous elder. How could I have forgotten him?
“He lives.” My relief was so profound I couldn’t speak. Amaruq’s son shuffled away with a Thule I barely recognized. His leg was bloody.
“I lost nearly two score men,” Jens added. “And more are wounded. They fought superbly.”
“I shall reward them,” Silveta offered breathlessly. The carnage was difficult to bear. “I’ll need good bondsmen by my side.”
Indeed, she seemed dazed to have her dream finally come true. She was back in her own estate. Though it now looked very different from the peaceful prosperity we both remembered. Women and children who had belonged to Birgir’s men were being herded into a longhouse, crying out their pleas to be forgiven for matters they had no part in. I saw Silveta grimace and knew she would not harm the truly innocent.
“Here.” Jens pointed.
We entered the great fire hall that bristled with the horns of the bulls Ejegod’s family had sacrificed to the gods. The sit
e of my first appearance in Tillfallvik—tied upside down and hung naked from a pole—was very different now. The straw that Birgir had pushed me into when he denounced me to Ejegod was filthy and sodden with blood. Tables were overturned and the colorful banners that had hung from the rafters had been torn down.
On the ground in front of the dais lay Birgir, just as I had seen him fall in my vision. He still wore his hammered silver helm with the nose and cheek guards surrounding his wide-open eyes. His chest armor had been unbuckled and thrown back to reveal his unmoving torso covered by mail. A great gash opened his neck and one cheek. I could see the pink bone underneath and the flesh torn in half. He seemed to leer at me even when dead. I shuddered as I looked at his hands, still massive but now curled like a baby’s. They were as bare as his great hairy feet.
“My blood oath has come to fruition,” Silveta proclaimed, a fierce light in her eyes. She kicked his body, but he was so heavy and stiff that he hardly moved.
There was no life in Birgir, evidenced by the olfs who came close, curiously floating over the man whose malevolence had driven them out of Tillfallvik and threatened all of Markland. There was nothing inside of him now. The darkness that he had wrapped around him like a cloak was finally dissipating, as were the inua of his slain men.
“Who did it?” Silveta declared. “I want to kiss the hand that slew this beast.”
Jens blushed and looked gratified. “In the end there were three of us against him, your man Torgils included. But it was my ax that caught him in the neck.”
Silveta dropped to her knees and took his hand in both of hers. Her eyes were shining. “I owe you everything.” She pressed her lips to his hand.
Jens insisted on pulling her to her feet. “No, ’tis only what the overlord promised you. Now I’ve redeemed his pledge.”
“Not him,” Silveta denied. “Never him. It was you.”
Torgils agreed, standing respectfully to one side. “Jens Jedvardsson has a claim of conquest on Markland. We could not have stormed the estate without his men.”
