Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1)

by Jerry Autieri

  "You are their young leader?" Alrik's voice was warm and rough, equal parts kind grandfather and rabid wolf. Here was a man who could be a loyal friend and a fierce enemy. Yngvar felt it all from his voice and the power that radiated from his posture. He made Kar look like a bullfrog next to him.

  "Yes, I am, lord. You must be Jarl Alrik Vigisson?"

  Alrik raised a single brow, but did not acknowledge his name. "Describe Erik's fleet to me."

  Yngvar thought carefully, closing his eyes to remember all the ships and their crews. He had spent an entire summer with most of these ships, and he had caulked many of their hulls. He had not thought at the time to make a careful accounting of what he had seen, and now regretted not having done so. He opened his eyes, and both Alrik and Kar were staring flatly at him.

  "Thirty ships went to sea over the summer. Some remained behind. Perhaps then he would have forty ships at most. He did not have enough men to complete a full crew on each ship. So he would have less than eight hundred men."

  "Does that match what you saw in his camp?" Alrik asked. He seemed unsurprised, but Kar was a shade whiter than he had been a moment ago.

  "No, lord, he had less men than that. Perhaps half that number." Yngvar now began to wonder at his own count. He looked to the others for confirmation. Bjorn and Alasdair stared back as if they had never seen a single ship. Yet both Thorfast and Ander nodded in support. "It does not make sense, though."

  "It makes sense," Alrik said. "Those other ships and men belong to other jarls. They joined him for his raids and left. Erik's true force is far less than what you witnessed."

  "But to what end?" Yngvar said, now genuinely intrigued. "We were nothing to Erik. Why appear bigger to us?"

  "He wants to appear bigger to everyone," Alrik said. He finally leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Do you think we have no spies among his number? He sailed all around us, making certain everywhere he went people were left behind to witness the greatness of his fleet. And how it would grow in the retelling. So, we here in Norway will quake at his name and fear to go to bed at night lest Erik's mighty fleet sweeps down upon us. But he is not so mighty. Not right now."

  Yngvar lowered his head in consideration. He had never realized any of this, but it had made no difference to him. In fact, what difference did it make now? He raised his gaze back to Alrik.

  "But he is mighty enough to sting this coast. He is no raider come to steal your flocks. He intends to burn and destroy, to teach you all a lesson. That is all that exists in the small, black heart of Erik Blood-Axe. And your spies have confirmed what I've told you. He is sailing now before the winter comes, before his mercenaries demand more than he can pay. For those other jarls will not join him in this madness."

  Alrik gave a satisfied nod. "He acts with rashness uncharacteristic of the man who once called himself king of this land. You have captured his heart exactly, for he is nothing if not a vengeful man. He has sacrificed twenty sheep and twenty slaves to Odin. Our spies can tell us no more, as they have now returned to us. But what else would he sacrifice so much for if not victory in battle? He is coming and we will meet him at sea to break up his attack."

  A smile overtook Yngvar's face. "So you believe us? Then you will let us go?"

  "I wish to hear from the others first," Alrik said. He in turn asked similar questions of all the men Yngvar had taken, except Alasdair whom he ignored. Everyone described variations on what Yngvar had already said. While they answered Jarl Alrik's questions, Yngvar dreamed of facing Erik in combat.

  Surely Fate had intended it. The Norns had blown his ship off course and directly into Erik's path. They were as unsatisfied with his fleeing as he was. His back was ruined from whipping not to mention the complete betrayal of Erik's oath. Had Erik not said it himself? Should either of us be faithless, then let this oath be forgotten and forfeit the life of the trespasser. The gods do not take the breaking of oaths lightly. Of course, Yngvar would be the sword that brought the gods' justice to Erik.

  When Alrik was satisfied, he turned to Kar for his questions. The frog-like jarl shook his head, his thick and frizzy hair too stiff to move.

  "So you see we are true," Yngvar said. "We are not spies of Erik's. So you will free us?"

  Alrik stretched and yawned, then extended a hand to Kar. "You are not my prisoners. Your fate is for Kar to decide. In my opinion you seem genuine enough. But Kar is more cautious than I."

  "And that has served me well," Kar said, leaping to his feet. His stoutness was hardly impressive beside the power Alrik projected. He pointed at Yngvar. "This one is arrogant, and the others keep looking at him like they don't know what to say. I don't trust the lot of them. Keep them locked up until we return."

  Yngvar's mouth opened to protest. Alrik's eyebrow raised again, but Yngvar had no chance to speak. Thorfast had stepped forward.

  "Jarl Kar, you mistake his earnestness for arrogance. We all desire Erik's downfall, but none more so than Yngvar. He--"

  "And this one speaks out of turn," Kar said. "Take them from the hall. I'll deal with them later. There's more important work to be done."

  With that final command, the hirdmen closed around Yngvar and the others and they were marched back to their prison.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  "So they've all left?" Yngvar asked, his eye pressed to the crack of his prison door. The single guard now only came to check on them three times a day. He gave his name only as Grettir. He was a young man, untried in battle with fresh red cheeks and a thin beard. Yngvar guessed only six months ago he might have appeared as green as Grettir. How much had changed over a single summer. Grettir was out of sight now, but Yngvar saw his shadow by the door as he checked it for any signs of attempted escape.

  "You can answer me," Yngvar said. "Of course everyone is gone. But when did they leave? Has Erik's fleet been spotted? You must know something."

  "They've been gone a day. You know what that means."

  He did. Loki had scuttled Jarl Alrik's plans. Clear skies and fair weather seemed in the offering, but a terrible storm appeared by nightfall. If the ships were at sea, then they could have been scattered or worse. By rights the same would've happened to Erik's crew. But Loki loved mischief and wouldn't it be fitting to shove aside Alrik and leave a path for bloody-minded Erik to come ashore?

  Grettir checked around the door, then asked through the crack. "The roof survived the storm? No leaking? And I'm not stupid enough to go inside to check myself."

  "Someone's going to open that door sooner or later," Yngvar said. "I hope Kar's instructions weren't to starve us to death?"

  A snort of laughter faded away as Grettir continued to circle the building. Yngvar glanced at the other men, who waited on their only relief from unremitting boredom.

  "You won't starve," Grettir said, returning to the door. "There's enough of us to handle you all. Last night we couldn't come up here but for the wind. We'll make it up to you this morning."

  "You're a good lad," Yngvar said. "If you let us out, I promise we will do everything to help you while the others are away. We'll even go back into captivity when Jarl Alrik returns. The men are going mad in here. There's no place to walk or stretch. The air is stale."

  "And it's a sight better than being killed off as spies or made into slaves," Grettir said cheerfully. "So learn to find the light inside the dark. The roof looks fine. We'll be back with food."

  Grettir left without anything more to add. Yngvar and the others settled into listlessness. The days of isolation and darkness were sapping any camaraderie the men felt toward each other. Even Yngvar, who loved both Bjorn and Thorfast like brothers, tired of their constant proximity. It seemed Alasdair alone was small enough to remain out of anyone's way. Yet even he had stopped speaking with Yngvar, preferring instead to huddle in prayer at the darkest corner of the room.

  Yngvar was staring at the cold hearth ashes and Thorfast noticed. He rolled onto his side on his pallet. "If they had left us a hearth fire,
we could've burned our way out of here. Or burned to death. Either way would be preferable to death by boredom."

  "Stop talking about dying," Bjorn said. "You're always talking about dying in here. Did you know that? I'm sick of hearing it."

  "Strange how you hear me say that, but can never listen to common sense."

  "What does that mean?"

  Yngvar saw the men stirring with the prospect of a fight. They were going to fan that spark of anger into a blaze, he was sure. So he tried to douse the fire now.

  "No one get excited, or we'll be tearing each other to bits before long. We're hungry and bored, and we don't know what comes next."

  "A great comfort, you are," said one of Erik's former crew. "They said if I followed you we'd be sure of success. Now look at me."

  Yngvar ignored the jibe. "Here, let me use your bored minds to think through a problem that has bothered me."

  Both Thorfast and Bjorn glared at each other, but both were willing to retire with Yngvar's offer of a diversion.

  "If Erik has only half the men he showed to us, then he is in no real position to attack this coast. He can't win. At best, he can inconvenience his brother, and even then indirectly. I know Erik has spoken about having revenge on Hakon, but this is such a weak attempt. It will waste more of his resources than he can afford. A whole summer of raiding, and his only purpose is to squander his treasure on a failed attack?"

  No one answered him. Several seemed indifferent to the question, others were considering his words. As expected, Thorfast was first to speak.

  "The mercenaries are of no concern to him. He can raise more gold again and hire others. The gods favor a bold warrior. Maybe he believes he can win here."

  Yngvar shook his head. "He is the son of a king and was a king himself. Kings thrive upon reputation. He knows that failures would not bring more warriors to his banner. He would not risk his reputation with half a force."

  "How does anyone know what that mad bastard will do?" Bjorn threw his hands up in disgust. "Maybe he's out looking for a new man to bed his wife."

  Yngvar had a thought, but it vanished when a knock came to the door. Expecting Grettir's cordial voice, he was surprised when Grettir was nearly screaming.

  "A ship is coming. Not one of ours. And it's overflowing with warriors. Men in mail and shields off the racks. This is bad."

  His rush of words sailed past Yngvar's understanding. What was he saying? Yet Thorfast jumped to the door, pressing his face to the crack.

  "Then it is well you came to us, Grettir," he said. "You have here eighteen men who have seen plenty of battle. You let us out to fight by your side, and we will fling that enemy back into the sea."

  "I don't know," Grettir said, his voice now almost a whine. "Kar said to keep you locked up and not fall for your tricks."

  "It is some trick for me to call a ship from the sea to the shore, especially locked in here," Thorfast said. "I know you are afraid of mistakes, especially disobeying your lord. I would feel the same. But you must believe me, Grettir, your lord did not predict this. He would want you to make the right decision. How many men did he leave to defend his home?"

  "Jarl Alrik took every fighting man with him. Just ten of us remain, and none of us have seen more battle than a squabble before."

  Thorfast glanced back at Yngvar. His friend was looking to him to confirm that they could win this fight. Yngvar did not know how yet, but he had faced worse odds escaping Erik the first time. He nodded.

  "We know what to do," Thorfast said, his voice soothing and clear. Yngvar admired how he easily responded to the changes in Grettir's mood. "Get us our swords and shields. Together we can defeat these bastards."

  Grettir didn't answer, but lifted the bolt. Yngvar was nearly swept aside by his men seeking to get out of their confinement. At first Grettir leapt back and screamed, expecting to be overrun. Yet the crew only gathered outside the doors and waited for Yngvar to appear.

  Parts of a plan formed in his mind, like the wooden pieces of a puzzle toy he had in his childhood. He drew from the tales of this father and grandfather. The songs of the skalds echoed in his head. All the while, his men surrounded him, overjoyed to be out in the air.

  "Even if we die, it's under the sky," Ander Red-Scar said. He stretched his arms over his head as he smiled. None of the men seemed as if they were about to go into battle.

  "So what do we do now?" Grettir asked. His face was waxy white.

  "Weapons, you fool," Bjorn shouted. "Take us to our weapons."

  Grettir led them a short distance to the main village. Women and children and the old were streaming toward the mead hall, the traditional place of safety. But they were only making their capture easier. Yngvar would have told them to scatter to every direction.

  They were met by Grettir's companions, who could not believe what he had done. Yet Yngvar and all his men were so confident that it quelled their fears. In moments, they were led into the hall where their weapons were kept. They were given shields, plain round wood but sturdily built. In short order Yngvar and all were readied for battle. He had Gut-Ripper at his waist once more, and he rested his hand upon it's cool hilt as he addressed the assembled men outside the hall.

  From the hill he could see across the pine trees to where the mast of the enemy ship showed in the fjord. He could not see the detail for the trees, but he knew they had anchored and were likely taking the ship's boat to come ashore.

  "They're planning a quick raid," he said. "They're going to kill anyone who tries to stop them and they'll come for Jarl Kar's treasure. I'm sure he's buried most of it, but he must have some in his home. That's what they want."

  Yngvar had everyone's attention. His eighteen men lined up with the ten young men Kar had left as a token force. They could keep the peace among the townsfolk and chase off bandits, but they had no hope against an organized raiding force. Neither did Yngvar's men, but none of them needed to hear his doubts.

  "So we must give them what they want," he said. "Bring the treasure out here. Put your weapons down in a pile beside it. Show you have surrendered."

  Grettir and the others squinted in disbelief. Yngvar's men merely listened, knowing he had more to offer.

  "They will check the surrounding buildings for hidden attackers, but will find them empty. When they are satisfied, they will be seeing exactly what they expected."

  "But what about you? And we'll be unarmed. This is madness," Grettir spoke up for the others, his voice rising with each word.

  "And so they will be fascinated with the treasure, relieved that you are no threat and just weak boys. But we will be down the slope, behind them and in front of you. We will fall upon them while they fawn over their gold. They will turn and you will draw your daggers and plunge them into their backs. We will cut them down with sword and ax from the front."

  "Daggers!" Grettir seemed on the verge of passing out.

  "A final part of the plan," Yngvar said, improvising on the spot. "Is to stack spears at the door of the hall, one for each of you. A poor man's weapon, no one will mind them. But we will have a man hidden in the hall, and on my call he will deliver spears to you."

  Yngvar watched the reactions from utter disgust to shock to admiration. Yngvar himself did not know if he was mad or if the gods were speaking through him. This plan seemed to come from nowhere.

  "Hurry," he said. "There's no time for anything more. Ander, you take all the men around the flank and follow behind the enemy. Stay out of sight until I call for you. Alasdair, I have a job for you. Grettir, hurry up with the treasure, and hide your daggers at your backs."

  Whether anyone believed him or not, at least acting in charge got men to take orders. Yngvar plucked Alasdair aside and led him toward the hall. "They'll mostly be interested in the young women. You will get up in the rafters and hide. You are the smallest one. When you hear me call, you will bring out the spears set by the doors."

  "This sounds like a dangerous plan," Alasdair said as they entered
the hall. "But I trust God is with us. We are defending against raiders."

  "We are raiders," Yngvar said. "But I will accept your god's aid if it kills enemies for me."

  Inside, the women and children huddled at the far end. A man was already stacking spears beside the doors. Yngvar divided the groups to be less conspicuous. He then hefted Alasdair into the rafters while the women watched. "Here's where being small is a great aid. You steady up there?"

  Alasdair nodded and folded himself into the shadows over the door. No one would look up there. Yngvar looked to the women. "None of you betray him, and he will save your men outside."

  His heart raced as this plan unfolded. Grettir and his companions surrounded a large wooden chest with a heavy lock. They were busy setting their swords in the grass. They stared at him as he ran past, pointing at a nearby pine he would climb. His stomach burned with fear for these men. They were taking a huge risk in disarming themselves.

  Grabbing a low branch, he hauled up into the tree. He scrambled higher, remembering how he loved this as a child. Once he was as high as he dared, he crouched against the rough trunk. The noise of the raiders was clear. They were proceeding through the outer village, bursting into emptied homes. Some lit fires and black smoke rushed skyward to malicious shouts. Yngvar had done the same during the summer, but had not experienced the thrill these men did. They worked their way to the center, where Grettir and his men huddled together.

  Yngvar counted twenty enemies. That meant ten more back on the ship. They were in mail coats and iron helmets, round shields of bright red and white slung over their backs. They carried axes and swords. No bows or spears that he could see, which relived him of his worst fear. He did not want to be shot out of his perch. Their faces were carved from long days at sea, etched with lines of storm and battle. They burst into laughter upon finding Grettir and the others. Their leader, a predictably muscular brute with an ax slung over his shoulder, stepped forward and spit on the ground.