Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  Thora and her cat sometimes visited. She felt responsible for his wound and so occasionally brought him a bowl of broth or a horn of mead. The raiding ship was never found, and by now the alert subsided. Cowards. They should have tried again if they had any guts. Yngvar would've welcomed a fight.

  "Hey, are you awake?"

  The shadow filled the doorway, and Yngvar could not see exactly who spoke to him.

  "I'm afraid I am. Come inside and sit with me if you have a moment."

  The figure glanced over his shoulder then ducked inside. Yngvar squinted at him as he stepped out of the backlight. He recognized him as Sigelhelm the Stout. Of course, Sigelhelm was anything but short. He was taller than most men, even Bjorn, and strong. Sigelhelm had a wide scar that ran down from his left eye like he had cried acid tears that burned his cheek. Yngvar assumed there was an interesting story to that scar.

  Sigelhelm scanned the room as if unsure what to do. Yngvar nodded at an empty pallet across from his. "Thorfast won't mind. Sit there."

  His massive frame settled on the edge of the pallet and he rested his heavy arms on his knees. He smiled at Yngvar, nodding at his ankle. "Still bound up?"

  "It's going to take all summer to heal," Yngvar said, infusing a bit of desperate drama into his claim.

  "You'll be back on your feet sooner," Sigelhelm said. They both chuckled, then died down to awkward silence. Sigelhelm stared at the pounded dirt floor.

  "What brings you here? You don't have any work to do?"

  "Bah, got stuck with repairing one of the ships. I'm not good at it and so I volunteered to go fetch some beer. I just thought I'd hide in here for a while."

  Yngvar smiled, but Sigelhelm was dressed like he was ready to fly into battle. He was heaped with wolf furs and his swords were in easy reach. Yngvar noted with some confusion that he had no peace straps tied to his sword hilts. Unless there was a known threat in the area, men wore peace straps to prevent drawing a weapon in anger and later regretting it.

  "What are you repairing?"

  Yngvar's question drew a frown from Sigelhelm. He shrugged his shoulders.

  "You don't know what you've been asked to repair?"

  "Nah, I didn't linger around to find out. I hate that stuff. Say, do you have anything to drink? Thirst is killing me."

  Yngvar liked Sigelhelm, but he did not know him well. In his short time with Alrik, Yngvar had made friends among his men. Not as many as Thorfast, who could make a friend out of a frost giant, but more than he usually did. Sigelhelm was always on the outside of those acquaintances. He joined them for drinking. He added his own tall-tales to whatever bragging was done. He laughed with them. But Yngvar did not know much about him, and perhaps others did not either.

  Handing over a waterskin, he gave Sigelhelm a questioning look. "You're not telling me something. What's really going on?"

  Sigelhelm dumped the water into his mouth, much of it racing over to his beard. When finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and extended the skin back to Yngvar. "Just what I needed."

  Yngvar took the skin back.

  And in the next instant he was pinned to the wall. Distracted by the waterskin, he had taken his eyes off Sigelhelm. His massive hand clamped over his mouth, the hard and rough skin smelled foul. Sigelhelm's right hand drew his sax with practiced ease and he put it to Yngvar's belly. The point of it jabbed through his linen shirt.

  "Sorry about this, but you're worth too much to just let sit here."

  He seemed sincerely apologetic despite the threat of evisceration. Yngvar remained still, giving only a slight nod to show he understood. In fact, he did not understand how some men lacked all honor and morals when presented with the promise of riches. Sigelhelm had as much chance of claiming Erik's bounty as a finch versus a falcon. Once the prize was handed over, Erik would dispense with whoever delivered it. He was a man with no conscience or shame.

  Yet Sigelhelm seemed convinced he was about to become rich just by putting his sax to Yngvar's guts.

  "Now here's the plan. We're walking out of here like nothing is wrong."

  "But everything is wrong," Yngvar said. "I'm not supposed to be walking and you'll have a sword at my back."

  "No, that's not how it will be."

  "Then I'm not going with you." Yngvar pushed up straighter, unafraid of the pressure of the sword on his stomach. Sigelhelm appeared bewildered.

  "I'll bring you in dead, then. You're worth less that way, but it's more than I'll ever see in a lifetime, even if I have to split it."

  The hint of others in this plot dulled Yngvar's cockiness. What first seemed like Sigelhelm's ill-advised plan to claim his bounty alone now might be part of a larger plot.

  Sigelhelm's strong arm supported him by the collar as he was pulled off the bed. Yngvar felt a surge of pain in his ankle. He was much better and could walk, but was not used to it. He could never fight like this, so he decided to play along for now.

  "We're going down to the shore and onto the ship," Sigelhelm said. "Everything's arranged."

  So they left boldly from the front barracks. To Yngvar's shock, no one was around. It seemed the place had emptied since Sigelhelm had arrived. Even the dogs did not bark any longer. Sigelhelm seemed relieved and hurried Yngvar along, his sax held tight to his leg so as to not make it too obvious.

  "That's right," he said. "Just go slowly and we'll be at the shore before long. No one's around. That's good."

  They veered off from the main beach landings and headed south. The rocky cliffs surrounding this land gave way to pockets of beaches where a single ship could hide. They headed toward one such place now. Yngvar knew it well, and it was a place he had patrolled once to check for any signs of it having been used.

  Down the gentle slope, past stands of poplar and ash trees, they crossed to a beach landing nestled between the rocky shoulders of two cliffs. The path down was steep and narrow. A full army could not unload here, but raiders would have no trouble. Sigelhelm again looked around and was satisfied.

  "Thanks for cooperating," Sigelhelm said. "I'll remind them that you were helpful."

  "Who are you talking about?" Yngvar was trying not to overtly position himself to grab one of Sigelhelm's weapons. He could not draw the sword without being first cut down. He wished Sigelhelm had left his sax in its sheath, which he could have drawn much easier. Instead, he angled himself for a dagger that was hitched to Sigelhelm's belt on his left hip.

  Sigelhelm did not answer, but tugged at Yngvar to follow him down the path. His heart beat faster and his vision grew sharper. He scrutinized the lay of the area, looking for any advantage for an escape. Truth was, with his weak ankle and Sigelhelm gripping him by the arm, he could not flee. Still, he planned. The dagger at Sigelhelm's hip was opposite him, but if he could wrest out of the giant man's grip, he could snatch it. Then the gods would decide how he lived or died. A dagger against a sword was a poor weapon, but better than fists.

  The trail dropped down to a sandy strip where a slim longship remained beached. Black rocks jutted everywhere, and gulls were stark white atop them as they shrieked angrily toward the water. A crew of twenty to thirty men waited either aboard ship or on the beach.

  "There they are," Sigelhelm said. He raised his hand, but no one answered him. They all stared back up. They wore salt-stained clothes ragged from too many days fighting the ocean wind. Their faces were tight and shadowed beneath dull iron helmets. Their shields were on their backs, bulking out their shadows to imposing girth.

  Yngvar swallowed hard, but Sigelhelm cackled. "Six pounds of silver for each man," he said as he tugged Yngvar down the slope. "That's more than I'll ever be paid and more than anything I've ever pulled in raid. With treasure like that, I can live a good life and never have to risk my neck for anyone again. I could even keep a wife and start a farm. No more of this shit. Sorry you have to lose your legs for it."

  "I was planning on using them for a while yet," Yngvar said, his voice cracking with
fear. He searched all around for an escape, but this was not fleeing three men but ten times that number. He had waited too long and now was caught.

  Sigelhelm trotted him down the path, his sight lost in imagining his new life. Yet as Yngvar drew closer, he noticed the men were tense and ready for battle.

  Then he noticed the beach had been churned up more than just from the normal traffic of the crew.

  He glimpsed what seemed bodies stacked behind the rocks. He glimpsed a man with an arrow on the string of his bow.

  Back on the deck of the ship, one of the crew had brilliant platinum hair flowing from beneath his helmet, and a strong man stood beside him with an ax slung across his shoulder. A short, copper-haired boy leaned over the rail before them.

  "Sigelhelm," Yngvar said, pulling back on him. They both stopped and his giant captor was yanked from his imaginings. He gave Yngvar a quizzical look.

  "Your life was a poor trade for six pounds of silver."

  He tore out of Sigelhelm's grip and threw himself flat. He landed face-first in the grass.

  The air hissed with the streak of arrows, then a heavy thump as the shafts sank into flesh. Sigelhelm gave a low groan, more of surprise than pain, and his body thudded onto the dirt track. Yngvar flipped over to see the black fletched arrows quivering in a line up his back. Four had struck him there and one had sunk into the back of his thigh. Thin trails of blood began to leak into the ground.

  The supposed enemy crew converged on them, walking slowly. There was a deep sadness in many of their faces. They had killed a friend. Even Yngvar felt a pinch of remorse for Sigelhelm. He had only snatched at a simple dream held by any man Yngvar had ever known. Now he was crumpled in shame, bleeding into the dirt.

  Jarl Alrik hardly seemed himself dressed in the ragged clothing of the raiders. Blood stains were still wet on the gray shirt he wore. He shook his head over Sigelhelm's corpse.

  "Died for nothing," he said. "Nothing but the promise of hack silver. A waste."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Yngvar stood on his left leg and balanced with arms extended. He was outside the barracks so that passersby could witness his recovery. Most spared such a prosaic accomplishment little more than a polite smile. Yet most of the them were women carrying laundry to the streams for washing. What could they know about recovering from battle wounds? Yngvar instead turned to Thorfast and Alasdair for approval.

  "I'll be impressed if you can stand like that all day," Thorfast said.

  "It is good to see you recovered, lord." Alasdair held Yngvar's sword, cradling it to his chest like a child. "It took so long to heal."

  "Thank you, Alasdair." Yngvar put his foot down and accepted his sword back. He slapped Thorfast's leg with it. "Your jokes are as ugly as your face."

  "That's not what the women say. They enjoy both."

  Everyone chuckled and Yngvar bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling the tightness in his calf muscles. It was now high summer and the sky was blue and the wind balmy. It reminded him of Frankia, which he had plenty of time to remember being laid up on his bed for more than a month.

  "I don't know how you did it," Thorfast said. "If I were so helpless I would go mad."

  The village hummed with activity, and the clang of the blacksmith's forge was clear above all. "I'll be glad to get back to work. Though honestly, not much has happened since we swore ourselves to Jarl Alrik."

  Thorfast nodded in agreement. "But you've been taking care of that for us, haven't you? Killing those raiders was a great diversion, though I suppose Sigelhelm thought otherwise."

  Yngvar grunted. Men hungry for Erik Blood-Axe's bounty had come seeking him. Sigelhelm had somehow contacted them and joined their number. Jarl Alrik had learned of the treachery and so let Sigelhelm carry out his plan, just to see if any others joined him. So while Yngvar was being captured, Alrik had killed Sigelhelm's accomplices and set his own forces in place to capture any other traitors.

  "It wasn't much fun for me either."

  Thorfast laughed but Alasdair blushed. "I did not know the plan, lord. I would have warned you not to do anything rash. What if you had fought Sigelhelm?"

  "Then Yngvar would've killed him," Thorfast said.

  "He would've cut the bastard's head from his shoulders and stomped on it with his one good foot!" Bjorn came around the corner, his thin beard wet with sweat and his hair matted from wearing his helmet. His cheeks were red, painting him more as an innocent boy than the fearsome warrior he was.

  "Chopping firewood again?" Thorfast said. In fact, Bjorn was the man everyone wanted to wrestle or duel, such was his raw power. He spent most days accepting good-natured challenges and had profited from his share of the bets he won. Even veterans struggled against Bjorn when he was roused to fight.

  Bjorn jabbed Thorfast's shoulder. "No, just plowing your mother all morning. Taking a break before I have your sister."

  Mention of Thorfast's sister, Kadlin, made everyone but Alasdair flinch at the coarse jest. Yngvar had spent much of his free time remembering her. He would not return for her until he had piled up treasure enough to make a good home for both of them. Since his childhood, Yngvar always knew he would marry her. But he would not do it as the spoiled brat of a jarl, but as a hero of his own hall.

  "Well, just joking," Bjorn said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, Jarl Alrik sent for you. I was asked to bring you to him in the mead hall."

  Thorfast gave a wry smile. "Time to make up for your days staring at the rafters."

  "I welcome it." Yngvar wasted no time reporting to Jarl Alrik. He left his friends behind and enjoyed walking with only the barest limp to the hall. He turned his weapons over to the guards at the doors then entered into the cool shadows beyond.

  He found Jarl Alrik standing with two other men, strangers to Yngvar's eyes. One man was a clean-dressed warrior of some importance. The gold armbands over his biceps were proof enough. The other man was tall but thin, and could have passed for a Christian priest as he wore black, homespun robes.

  "That was fast," Jarl Alrik said with a smile. "How does it feel to run free again?"

  Yngvar knelt before his jarl, his ankle wobbling from the weakness of disuse. "It feels wonderful, lord."

  Alrik laughed. "We take no joy in the simple things like walking until we have lost them. Well, off your knee and take a bench. My discussion with our guests is done."

  Sitting as directed, Yngvar watched Alrik with his two guests. The tall, thin man was certainly a priest. He wore a crucifix of wood over his robes. The other warrior spoke in a strange language to him, and translated for Alrik's benefit. When they left, Alrik stood watching them, his smile shifting to something more circumspect.

  "Is the priest a captive, lord?"

  Alrik's expression fell into a frown. "Unfortunately, no. He has been sent to us by our good King Hakon. He wants us to embrace the White Christ like he has himself."

  Yngvar's amazement must have shown on his face, for Alrik smirked before he explained further.

  "Oh yes, you don't suppose he lived in Wessex all his young years and was not twisted into a Christian?"

  "But their god is weak. He was hung on a cross by common people. What kind of god can be killed by men?" Christianity had surrounded Yngvar throughout his youth, but it was a Frankish tradition. Though the great jarl Hrolf the Strider had become a Christian, before he died he denied their god and had a hundred priests beheaded. The priests' god simply watched their heads fall to the ground. "I don't think the White Christ has any power that matters."

  Shrugging, Alrik dragged over another bench and sat close to Yngvar. "Well, the priest has asked to build a church here under the king's leave, and so I must allow it. But building a church will do little to bring men inside it. For that, I fear our good King Hakon has a much larger task on hand. Well, this is not what I wanted to see you for."

  The cool, dim hall seemed to shrink in Yngvar's view. While he could think of nothing he had done wrong, something in th
e way Jarl Alrik held himself spoke to his unease. Yngvar simply inclined his head, unable to think of what to say. He hoped he was misreading the situation, but Alrik's pause only worsened his suspicions.

  "I have given this some thought and I can think of no other solution." Alrik's words now seemed to echo as if in a cavern. He gave a wan smile. "You are an excellent warrior. You very nearly killed Erik Blood-Axe and you certainly embarrassed him. You have great natural talent, and so I was attracted to that."

  Again Yngvar inclined his head, but now swallowed hard.

  "Unfortunately, you have brought much unneeded attention to these shores. There are more ships than ever off the coast, not to say they are all here for you. But look at what has already happened. Even one of my own men could not overlook how much your bounty is worth."

  "Erik has no way to pay so much," Yngvar said, his fists tightening as they rested on his knees. "Even if he did pay it, he would just hunt down the man and retake his silver. He has no honor and his promises mean nothing."

  "I agree with every word," Alrik said. "You and I are wise enough to see through his lies. But desperate men will believe whatever pleases them. Those raiders we killed, they were desperate men living hard lives out of islands that are little more than rocks in the sea. There are hundreds more like them on this coast. There are even men like that in my own ranks. You saw Sigelhelm. He was the first, but not the last to be swayed by the promise of riches."

  "There is nothing I can do about Erik's lies," Yngvar said. "What are you asking of me, Jarl Alrik?"

  Alrik's eyes met his. He leaned back and rubbed his forearm. "King Hakon did not only send a priest to build a church, but he also sent a command. He is requiring his jarls fill the ranks of his standing army. This is a strange system, but not unheard of. I am required to provide him men and ships according to the size of my lands."

  "The Franks do something similar," Yngvar said.

  "As is the custom in Wessex and even in Denmark. It seems to be the new way of things." Alrik rested both hands on his knees. "It seems best if I send you and your ship to Vestfold."