Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1)

by Jerry Autieri

  "That is not true," Yngvar said, but his voice was hoarse and dry. Thorfast jumped in for him.

  "My king, your sources must be wrong. I am certain both Jarls Hakon and Aren have great wealth. You have not been told the truth."

  "I've been told by men who served under Hakon. And Aren is no jarl, but a hanger-on in the so-called court of Vilhjalmer Longsword. He doesn't even have ships. So your lies have bought my hospitality for several months now. I imagine you enjoyed eating my food and drinking my mead."

  And fucking your wife, you dumb bastard. Yngvar's teeth ground hard enough for him to taste salt at the back of his tongue. Bjorn's face was turning red as well. Thorfast, however, remained calm for all of them.

  "My king, we have been productively helping you in every way possible. It is true your generosity is famous and we are ever grateful for it. But we have surely taken the edge off our presence here through the work we've done. Not to mention, you have captured our ship which is worth a considerable amount. More than what we've cost you."

  Erik's smile widened and he shifted on his chair. "Your fathers do not interest me. Your grandfather, Ulfrik, now there was a man I could have dealt with. His children? They are not worth my time. As for what value you represent, that is for me to decide. Right now, you seem fit for the slave blocks."

  Conjuring Ulfrik's memory made Yngvar's chest expand with pride. His grandfather would've carved this overgrown fool in half. Even if in pain, Yngvar had to speak out. He pulled himself straighter in Thorfast's and Ander's grips.

  "My grandfather is alive in me," Yngvar said, meeting the king's eyes. "I am no slave and never shall I be. Sell us if that suits you, but you are mistaken. The gods will mock you for such arrogance."

  "I don't doubt your ill-tongue comes from your grandfather. I hear he was an onerous, foolish man who had more luck than sense. But those are just stories. What do I know of the facts? Well, I know this much, your very life is in my hands. Perhaps I don't sell you. Maybe I can line my shores with your skulls as a warning to enemies. Think before you speak, or you will find you've crossed to my bad side."

  The crawling burn on Yngvar's back made him wonder how horrible Erik's bad side was.

  "Now, in your time here you've all seen that I am in need of good men. My--disagreement--with my brother will have to be addressed, and soon. I need men and gold to complete that goal. At first, I believed you might be a source of gold, and now I know that was a false hope. But as your more even-keeled friend has noted, you have served well. If you do not want slavery, then you may swear an oath to serve me. My ships need crews for rowing and spear men for fighting. You all will do well."

  Yngvar sank between his friends. An oath was for life, and to break it was to fall lower even than a slave. Erik Blood-Axe was not the lord Yngvar wished to serve. Not even a ghost of such a man. Yet here was his choice, one kind of slavery over another.

  "Can we take time to decide?" Thorfast asked.

  Erik sprung from his chair, screaming. "Think on what? Slavery or service to me. Could it be so hard to decide? I thought you the smart one of the bunch. Fool!"

  Eyes turned to Yngvar, and he felt their burn like the whip that had marred his back. Yngvar licked his dry lips. "Slavery is forever, and once sold into it there is never guarantee of escaping it."

  "Come now," Erik said. "Some owners treat their slaves like family."

  Ynvgar's father had treated his slaves either with indifference or kindness, never cruelty. But most people thought of slaves as property and did not weep for them any more than they wept for a cracked bowl or torn shirt.

  "I cannot speak for everyone," Yngvar said, knowing that in fact he did speak for them. "But I will swear my loyalty to you."

  "A wise choice." Erik looked neither pleased nor upset. He held out his palm for a sword, which one of his mighty guards gave to him. He held it forward. "Place your hand upon it and we shall bind our fortunes together."

  Led by Thorfast and Ander, he stood before Erik and placed both hands on the cold, smooth iron blade. They helped him kneel as he swore loyalty. "I will serve unto death."

  Erik nodded and completed the oath. "I shall offer you protection, shelter, and honor for your service. Should either of us be faithless, then let this oath be forgotten and forfeit the life of the trespasser."

  So it repeated with every man. When Alasdair finally stepped forward, Erik withdrew his sword.

  "This one is a slave," he said. "I need no oath from him."

  Alasdair looked back to Yngvar hopefully.

  "I granted him freedom this morning," he said.

  "Do you have witnesses?" Erik returned the sword to his guard. "Without witnesses he remains a slave. My men do not own slaves. I do. So this one becomes mine now."

  "I witnessed it," Thorfast said. He glared at Bjorn, whose sullen face hinted he was paying no mind to anyone.

  Erik laughed, slapping the arm of his chair. "Of course you did. You are the witness to everything, it seems."

  "I witnessed it as well," Ander Red-Scar said. "Yngvar granted Alasdair freedom just this morning."

  Erik's eyes narrowed. "I detest liars. You were sent afield this morning."

  "I swore loyalty," Ander said. "I am your man. Yet you already question me?"

  The curl of Erik's lip revealed his yellow teeth. He stared at Ander a long while, finally extending his hand for his sword once more. He held it out for Alasdair to swear his oath.

  When all was done, Erik approached Yngvar hanging between Thorfast and Alasdair. "Is my healer caring for your back?"

  Yngvar nodded. Erik walked behind him and pulled away a fresh bandage. The cool air stung his tender flesh. He grunted and patted the bandage into place.

  "When you heal, you will make sure my youngest warrior knows how to handle himself in battle." He circled around to Yngvar's front and hovered over him. "I'm in a fine mood today and willing to indulge my men. But always speak the truth to me, or your back will never heal and you will spend your days weeping for your mother. Do you understand?"

  Yngvar nodded. He understood.

  He was sworn to a tyrant for the rest of his life and had no hope of seeing home again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Yngvar leapt into the cold shallows, his naked feet plunging into the muck. One of the crew flung a rope down to him, and he took it up with Bjorn and several others. Bracing the rope against his shoulder, he pulled for the shore. A dozen other men leaned into other ropes, dragging the ship onto the beach. The high-sided ship held thirty crew and as many captives. All along the beach King Erik's other ships were going through the same process.

  The sky had darkened and they had beaten a storm back to shore. Summer was done and autumn ascended, but it was warmer here than Yngvar would have thought such a northern land could be. A balmy, salty breeze washed over him as he sat on the grass with the others who had pulled the ship ashore. His shoulder ached from the stress. At least now his back no longer hurt him. The thick, raised scars were like another cloak on his back. With his clothes on, it was as if he had never been scarred.

  Thorfast and Alasdair staggered over from another rope crew and sat with him and Bjorn.

  "I'm glad to be back here," Thorfast said, looking up toward the village. The wind caught his white hair and blew it across his face. Women were already descending the slope to greet the returned men.

  "This place is shit," Bjorn said. "What a fucking waste of a summer. Chasing down old men and women. This is what Erik calls glory?"

  Yngvar shook his head. He agreed with every word. He watched ship after ship disgorging droves of slaves. Women and men, boys and girls, all collected from Scotland, Ireland, and a half-dozen other nameless islands where hapless people scratched their livings from the rocks. The slaves were why Erik had prepared so many buildings. He needed gold to finance his army, but there wasn't enough of it in these lands. So he stole defenseless people from their farms and homes and would sell them for the gold he requi
red.

  "There's got to be three hundred or more slaves here," Thorfast said.

  "You can't count that high," Bjorn said. "No one can."

  "I can," Alasdair said. "I learned writing and numbers from the priests. God has blessed me with a memory for it, too."

  "Great," Bjorn said. "When we meet a real enemy, you can write letters and numbers. See how long that keeps your head on your shoulders."

  Everyone stared at the clusters of slaves. They huddled together as Erik's warriors pulled them into groups like they might sort spoiled fruit from a basket. Children screamed to return to their mothers. Husbands tried to hold on to their wives. Resistance was met with the butt of spear in the face of the transgressor. Their screams were distant and shallow against the purr of ocean. Yngvar had hardened himself to this after a summer of raiding. Slavery was a fact of life, and slaves had their place in the world. Yet he had never had to witness the making of one. These were families, not captured warriors. Fate had woven a terrible destiny for these people.

  Bjorn growled and turned aside. "Better them than us. A man is free only as long as he's strong enough to protect his freedom."

  After a summer at sea, Yngvar still felt the sway of the deck even as he sat on dry land. It seemed impossible that only a few months ago he was still on his stomach. Throughout the recovery, he had mostly spent days idle in his private room. That room turned out to not be from Erik's thoughtfulness--which he did not possess in any measure--but from the scheming of his wife, Gunnhild.

  One day after the old woman treated him, he discovered that Gunnhild had arrived. Yngvar wanted nothing to do with her, but she remained after the old healer left. She had her way with him no matter how he protested, no matter how he cried out from pain. She wrapped her legs around his torso, heedless of what it did to him. She was a beast that could never be sated. This continued for weeks, then suddenly ceased. Throughout the entire ordeal, she never spoke more than commands. When she dropped interest in him, he was neither warned of it nor explained why. The old woman and her maid continued their work until they pronounced him fit again, which was just a week before Erik decided to set out for summer raiding.

  "Yngvar!"

  He roused from his thoughts and turned toward the voice. One of Erik's picked hirdmen, Grimkel, approached. He wore a heavy wolf fur cloak and still wore his helmet. The faceplate lent a fierceness to him that belied his smile.

  "Oi, Yngvar, we are starting celebrations early tonight. Come with me to the hall where we will have the first of the summer mead."

  "You're popular," Ander Red-Scar said. "But I don't know why."

  "I did everything I could to be as useless as possible all summer," Yngvar said. "Yet Erik and his men seem to favor me."

  Grimkel stood with hands on his hips, his smile bright in his dark face. "Come on. You've spent enough time with these fools for one day."

  As they had progressed in their raids toward home, Yngvar had discovered a rising popularity that made no sense to him. Erik's men spoke to him as an equal. They praised him for his bravery under the whip. They admired his generosity. They said King Erik did as well. He found himself among their number more and more, as if they hoped he would become accustomed to their better drink and food.

  Thorfast shrugged at him. "Go on. Maybe now that we're back you can set that cunning mind of yours to finding a way out of Erik's service."

  "It's not a difficult plan to imagine," Yngvar said as he rose to his feet. "Just steal a ship and sail. Hope no one catches up to you."

  He fell in with Grimkel, who slapped his back. In truth, it still hurt him, but it was no longer a burn but a dull ache. He wondered if he would ever be free of that pain.

  Once they passed the crowds of gathered slaves, he decided to probe Grimkel. "I'm flattered you'd invite me to your drinking. But honestly, you've no reason to be so friendly with me."

  Grimkel laughed. He had roguish good looks that set women swooning. Even some of the girls taken as slaves had stared overlong at him.

  "You are a brave and cunning man," he said. "We need men like you to defeat Hakon the Good and win back Norway. It's true Erik asked us to bring you into our fold. But we enjoy your company."

  The mead hall, for all the horrible memories of the place, was a welcomed sight. Inside was warm and dry, and coals of the hearth breathing red light. A fat, black, iron pot hung by a hook over it. Savory scents of lamb flowed from it so that Yngvar's mouth watered. Nothing like a clean hall compared to life aboard ship and camping on strange shores. For whatever faults Erik possessed, he knew how to live in comfort.

  "Is it wrong that we should be here before King Erik?" Yngvar set his swords aside at the door next to Grimkel's. Only a half-dozen servants hustled around the main room and attempted to disappear when Yngvar and Grimkel wandered in. Together they pulled a table and bench from the side. Apparently Grimkel had no worries of King Erik's dissatisfaction, since he hadn't bothered to answer.

  "Bring the best summer mead," Grimkel yelled at one of the servants. "Leave one cask for the king, but the rest are for his men."

  He winked at Yngvar and soon they were drinking warm, sweet mead. They had relied on looted ale and beer for most of the summer, and the delicious sweetness of a crafted mead made Yngvar forget his worries.

  Before long, others filed into the hall. All were Erik's picked men and all were veterans of dozens of battles. They sported gold and silver armbands that matched their battle scars. They laughed with the easy camaraderie of men who have faced death together and survived. Yngvar felt insignificant among them. Yet they crowded him on the bench and invited him to their conversations.

  Most uncomfortable of all was giant Hrut, whose clear eyes glossed past him without a trace of hinting at what he knew. He was Gunnhild's guardian and apparently more loyal to her than Erik. He did not speak with Yngvar, but listened attentively when he spoke and treated him well.

  "The slaves will be sold before the week is out," Grimkel said. "They're going to traders who will take them to Dublin."

  "The traders know to come?" Yngvar asked.

  Grimkel held up a hand while he guzzled his mead horn dry. He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. "It was all arranged in advance. We got the number of heads promised, so we can count on the gold we'll be paid."

  "So where will he buy more crews?" Yngvar asked. "We've got maybe two months before snow falls, I'd imagine. Can we raise enough men for an attack in that time?"

  The veterans exchanged bemused looks, and finally Grimkel laughed. "He's got more settlements than this under his rule."

  Yngvar blushed. Of course he had not seen everything Erik could muster. While he commanded an impressive fleet, he would have had other leaders, so-called hersirs, who commanded their own hirds to come to his aid.

  "Erik will call all his jarls together," Grimkel continued. "And maybe pay for some Irish mercenaries. We will be enough to grab Hordaland on the west coast. That will divide the jarls and put a spear right through Hakon the Good's heart. From there we can subdue the west and that is all we need to topple Hakon."

  Grimkel slapped the table and his brethren did the same. Yngvar did not understand the nuances of battle plans, but the general cheer around the table seemed premature to him. Hadn't this same force been driven out of Norway? It seemed simplistic to shoot headlong into the heart of enemy territory with nothing but battle lust to carry the day. Erik's men were fighting for gold and glory only. The folk of Norway would be fighting for their homes. Yngvar's father had spoken at length on attacking men in their homeland. With nowhere to run, such men fought ferociously and to their last breath.

  Throughout the day they drank until nightfall arrived with a storm behind it. The hall was overcrowded with celebrants. Yngvar was drunk by the time he tried to explain to the others what he had learned. Thorfast said something about disappearing during the upcoming battle in Norway, but Ander seemed against the idea. Yngvar did not care by that point.

/>   More days passed and Yngvar eventually faced Gunnhild once more. She had no eyes for him, which was as he wanted it. Yet he also wanted to scream at her and tear away that careless, false smile she wore. Hrut resumed his duty following her everywhere. Yngvar wondered who was now being dragged off to her bed. It didn't matter.

  After a week, the mood in the village was changing from celebration to sterner attitudes. The slaves had been sold. Erik spoke after every night's meal on the coming battles and the glories awaiting his men. He ever promised gold and riches that had to be out of proportion to what they would find in Norway. Yet no one questioned this.

  "Well, they're all from Norway," Bjorn said one night. "They should know what's there for the taking. Maybe it won't be so bad."

  "At least we won't be chasing old women out of their homes," Thorfast said. "Or at least that won't be our entire purpose."

  Yngvar nodded. His head was swimming from the noise and the drink. Everyone had come to regard him as a favorite of Erik and his closest men. So his drinking horn was never empty as warriors toasted him.

  "Our ship is still at dock," Thorfast said. "I'd have thought Erik would've sold it. It's not as grand as his ships."

  "Small but fast," Yngvar said. "I think that's what both Uncle Gunnar and my father preferred in a raiding ship. Erik wants to bring war to the west coast of Norway. That's a different ship altogether."

  They spent a long night remembering how things were at home. Ander Red-Scar told them stories of Gunnar and Hakon, and bits of what he knew of Ulfrik Ormsson. It was a pleasant night. Yngvar sneered at Gunnhild as she left with Erik, much earlier than usual which raised Yngvar's spirits. But as more men began to snore or leave, Yngvar yawned and declared they should also sleep.

  "After all, tomorrow is another day of listening to Erik's boasts and waiting for the real action to begin," he said.