Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  So he, Thorfast, Bjorn, and Alasdair threw on their cloaks and headed for the hall. A low glow still showed from the opened front doors. The crescent moon was lost behind clouds, giving them the darkness they needed.

  "What are we doing out here?" Thorfast asked. "We're not busting into the hall, are we?"

  "No, just Alasdair. He's small."

  "Lord?" Alasdair stopped in shock and everyone pile up around him. Yngvar searched around, but the tracks were empty and the buildings surrounding them were either black or only showed candlelight.

  "You get in there and tell me what Rognvald's about. If he's awake, it's one plan. If he's asleep, it's another."

  "Two plans!" Bjorn said. "You're smart enough for that?"

  "Sometimes." Yngvar waddled off and the rest followed. The hall was unguarded. This was not a king's hall and sat amid a populous village. So men did not carry their worries for raiders here. Yngvar and the rest piled up beside the door. He pulled Alasdair close. "Now take off your cloak and you'll look like a servant. Just peek around to find Rognvald. Then come back and tell me what he's doing."

  Alasdair swallowed but said nothing. He stripped away his gray cloak and then boldly stepped through the open door. Yngvar smiled with pride. He was a good man and obedient. Something in his ale-soaked brain said he should not risk such a man on foolish errands like this. Too late now.

  "Did he fall asleep in there?" Thorfast asked after what seemed too long.

  No sooner did he complain than Alasdair strode out of the hall. "Sorry, lord, one of the men wanted more ale and I had to find where the keg was. Most have fallen asleep, but Rognvald is still awake and with a girl."

  "Is she pretty?" Bjorn asked, but Yngvar pushed his head back.

  "Never mind the girl. Did you see if anyone relieved themselves inside the hall? Anyone pissing in a corner?"

  "No, lord, I think it is a new hall and Rognvald is not ready to ruin it so fast."

  "Then he will come outside to relieve himself," Yngvar said. "That is what I needed to know. We just hide for now."

  They looked around and decided a small building across the way made the best place. It was a storage room for the hall. They waited there with no one making a noise. Soon Yngvar began to fear Rognvald had fallen asleep and was going to send Alasdair back inside. Then Rognvald's form staggered out the door.

  "Now's the time," Yngvar said. He heard metal drag across a scabbard and turned. Bjorn was drawing his sword. "Gods, man! Just a little punishment, not murder!"

  Bjorn frowned. "Then what have we been waiting all night to do?"

  "Lord," Alasdair tugged at the hem of his shirt. "He's going off somewhere."

  Yngvar watched Rognvald stagger. "This is better than I hoped. He's going to the cesspit."

  Pulling their hoods over their heads, they slid from their hiding place to follow Rognvald. Yngvar's heart was pounding and his head spun. The thought of putting this arrogant bastard in his place was making him giddy. Rognvald himself was also drunk as he crisscrossed the path worn into the grass. The foul scent of the pit reached Yngvar's nose, and he led his small band behind a tree. They hid in the night shadows with all the confidence of drunken fools. Bjorn snickered as Rognvald struggled with his pants before the cesspit.

  "Alasdair, I want you to run before him as soon as he squats." Yngvar suppressed a laugh. "The rest of you, join me for some fun. Look! He's started. Go!"

  Rognvald had squatted, his brown pants pulled down and his bare ass hanging out like a white ham hock in the low light. Alasdair ran out before him, drawing his attention.

  Yngvar and the rest slammed into him from the side as his head was turned. Rognvald went screaming into the cesspit and landed with a disgusting squelch. Yngvar burst into laughter, falling over Bjorn's shoulder. Thorfast doubled over in laughter as Rognvald's curses echoed out of the pit.

  "I'll cut out your lungs!" Then he spit and howled in dismay. It set Yngvar rolling with laughter. Thorfast looked down into the pit and spit.

  "Serves the bastard right," Bjorn said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  "Maybe we better go, before someone comes." Yngvar got off the ground, his sides sore with laughter. He and the rest staggered back to their barracks. They stayed up all night drinking and regaling the others with the tale of Rognvald's humiliation.

  The next morning, Yngvar awoke to a bright light and a thundering headache. Someone was screaming at him and held him off the pallet by his shirt.

  "I know it was you fucking bastards!"

  Rognvald's face was purple and less than a thumb's width from Yngvar's nose. His damp beard tickled Yngvar's chin, and he smelled faintly of shit.

  "My head," Yngvar moaned. "Stop screaming."

  He crashed down on his pallet as Rognvald stood back. His wet hair clung to his face and his clothes were fresh. He drew his eyes to slits. "You can deny it all you want, but I saw Thorfast's white hair. No one has hair as white as his."

  Thorfast half reclined on his bed across from Yngvar. He raised a finger in protest. "My hair is not white, but very light yellow. And plenty of men have lighter hair."

  "Stop spewing shit from that asshole in the middle of your face! I know it was you, and I'm not going to forget it. You wait."

  Now that Rognvald had blasted the cobwebs of drunken sleep from Yngvar's head, he sat up and rubbed his face. "I don't know what you're talking about, but we were here all night. Every one of us got drunk and cursed our poor luck at missing King Hakon's visit. Whatever it is you accuse us of, you're mistaken."

  If a head could explode from anger, Rognvald's seemed ready. Not only had his face turned purple, but veins stood out on his temples and neck. His teeth ground together as if he were crushing stones. Outside the barracks doors, a few other men lingered. They had hands over their mouths as if fighting laughter. Yngvar had to close his eyes or else risk laughing as well.

  "He says we pushed him into the shit pit," Bjorn said.

  "That little turd distracted me," Rognvald said. His head swiveled around, but he did not find Alastair. "Where did that dog-shit go? No matter, he distracted me and you three shoved me into the pit. You'll bleed for it. I promise."

  Rognvald spun and stormed out into the milky light where his companions waited. One man gave Yngvar a knowing look and a slight nod before following the others.

  No one made a sound until Rognvald was far off, then the barracks exploded in laughter.

  Yngvar held his sides as he laughed, even as his head throbbed. It had all been worth it. He had made a powerful enemy. Without a doubt, Rognvald would make good on his promise one day. But for this day, Yngvar chose to laugh.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Yngvar pulled a chest to the center of the deck, fixing it against the mast so that he sat amid his crew. They crowded around, casting him into shadows. Gulls brazenly sat on the rail of his ship. Since it had sat at dock for all but one week of summer, they probably mistook it for a rock. Yngvar rubbed the back of his neck, then scratched his head.

  "You've got an idea, I hope," Thorfast said. He stood directly before Yngvar, and Alasdair was at his side. His young friend's copper hair had bleached whiter and his flesh redder after a whole summer outdoors.

  "Of course he has," Bjorn said. He folded his arms over his fatter belly. He had decided to kill the boredom of the summer with mead, and it was starting to show. "Come on, Yngvar, don't keep it secret."

  The crew leaned in, their eyes bright with anticipation. When they had agreed to this duty, it was not to become carpenters for the king nor to be fools for a self-important ass named Rognvald. Yngvar owed everyone better than what they had gotten.

  "It's not a secret," he said. "I've called you all here because of what we've been discussing all these weeks. The summer is over. Fall is coming. We've done our season of service to King Hakon. Never even met the bastard. Instead, we got Rognvald."

  Laughter rippled from mention of the name. He was now called Rognvald the Fragrant behind his
back. Yngvar had even overheard it from strangers. Despite his rage, Rognvald spent the last month keeping away from Yngvar and treating all of his crew as if they did not exist. It was troublesome having to remind someone at Rognvald's hall that they had rations owed them at least. But none of his threat had carried through, and so men began to despise his weakness.

  He continued. "From all I've heard, King Hakon is a great man. He is young but wise. He may be Christian, but he respects the will of the people. He's a law-giver, perhaps the greatest, men say."

  His crew nodded. Hakon's reputation for fairness and the rule of law had earned him high praise from every corner. Perhaps his penchant for order had even protected Yngvar from Rognvald's bloody-minded revenge.

  "I wish we could have met him," Thorfast said, again to more silent agreement from his peers. "We served him, after all."

  "We did," Yngvar said. "And we must see him. We did not suffer a summer of indignity just to sail away at the end of our service without so much as a glance from the king. We were sent here as heroes, as the men who fought and bested Erik Blood-Axe. Does King Hakon even know this? I doubt it."

  He scanned the dour faces of his crew. They were disheartened and betrayed. Alrik had said this was not a punishment, yet it felt much like one. The gulls sitting on the rails suddenly burst into flight. Behind them, men rolled barrels down the docks toward the shore. Yngvar licked his lips.

  "There are thousands of others like us here. The harbor is dense with fighting ships. King Hakon has an army capable of standing against the mightiest enemies of the world. So how does one come to stand above all his brothers in such a shield wall."

  "He stands on the shoulders of the tallest man," Thorfast said. The crew was quick to laugh, and Yngvar smiled.

  "There's that. And it's not a far stretch from what we must do. Like standing atop a tall man's shoulders, we must become visible to the king. Yet in the same way, what we stand upon must be stable. It would not do to rise before the king and then fall at his feet."

  "So what is it you suggest?" Bjorn asked.

  "What I should've done from the first. I am here because of a bounty on my head. I need to put an end to that bounty."

  Gasps went up, and both Bjorn's and Thorfast's eyes widened in surprise. Only Alasdair waited patiently, but Yngvar had discussed his plans previously with his young friend.

  "I realize we cannot reach Erik Blood-Axe, at least not now," Yngvar said, raising both hands as if to stop a rush of questions. "But his son, Gamle, has made the bounty all the more attractive by offering to double the reward. Now he's on his own, sailing around these waters with his ships. There's a target we can reach. If I can bring the fight to Gamle and win, then I will have achieved two successes for the effort. First, we end this bounty and teach others we cannot be so easily defeated. Second, we deliver the head of a hated enemy to King Hakon. For Gamle opposes the king, and I'm sure he would help Erik contest Hakon for leadership if he could. So bringing back his head would elevate us in the king's eyes. We would be rewarded with gold, I'm certain, and with his esteem as well, or so I'd expect."

  He let the idea settle with his men. He could see Bjorn's face shift from confusion to grim satisfaction. If a hard fight was in the offering, his cousin would flock to it without hesitation. The rest of the crew seemed to be weighing the merits of the plan versus its possibility.

  "You know where Gamle is?" Thorfast asked, his brow cocked.

  "You look just like your sister when you do that," Yngvar said with a smile. In truth, it was an expression learned from his mother, but Yngvar had seen it so often in Kadlin's face that he associated it with her more. He missed her and wished he could return to Frankia to be with her as he promised.

  "No, I don't know exactly where he is. But how hard could it be to learn where he makes his camp? It can't be distant from his father, could it?"

  "But we could be wasting our time," said one of his men, Grettir, who had once followed another jarl but arranged to shift his oath to Yngvar. "What if we're caught before we can find Gamle?"

  "Our ship is fast and we are alert. We'll outrun them." Yngvar hoped his simplistic confidence would appeal. In fact, he was working with the thread of a plan right now, born out of a desperate need to salvage something from a restless and fruitless summer.

  "Yes, we'll all row very hard," Thorfast said. "Our ship will fly over the waves and never be touched by an enemy boarding hook. But--maybe Gamle will hear of us first. Just saying it's possible. He might think to send a half-dozen ships after us himself."

  "Well, if you all want to be safe little boys, then hang up your swords," Yngvar said, standing from his chest. "I thought I was with a real fighting crew. Of course this is a dangerous plan. That's why it will be glorious. Do skalds sing of the man who brings his sheep to pasture and home again day after day? Do women touch their beating hearts when the wainwright walks past? Do fishermen drink from silver horns? What do you want from life? You can thatch roofs for King Hakon, but I sail for gold and glory. Anyone afraid of dying doesn't need to stand with me. I will chase death. I'll be at its heels, seeking the road to Valhalla where I know a bench waits for me. The rest of you can remember me in Freya's hall with your gray-haired wives who'll nag you until Ragnarok."

  The crew stared at their feet. Only Thorfast smirked at him, arms folded. "And they call me the silent. A name better given to you, I think."

  Yngvar smiled and scanned his chastened men. Alasdair and Bjorn, his fellow wolves, were never in question. The others needed to believe in victory and fame. He could not guarantee either, but he would always put them in a position where both could be won.

  The next day, all of them were prepared to leave.

  "We should say something to Rognvald," Yngvar said. Thorfast shrugged, setting his chest down. The majority of Yngvar's crew had already gone to the ship, loading it with supplies for a week at sea. He imagined he would have to return to Jarl Alrik, but wanted a run at Gamle first.

  Bjorn did not even turn to answer. "We should say he still smells like shit and we're glad to never see his face again."

  The morning sun was bright against Yngvar's eyes, and Bjorn was nothing more than a burly shadow stalking off to the docks with an ax slung over his shoulder. Villagers paused to watch them leave, and Bjorn inclined his head to an old woman leaning in a doorway.

  "Well, someone should go with me all the same," Yngvar said. Thorfast was already following Bjorn. Alasdair started off toward Rognvald's hall.

  Together they arrived and were granted entrance despite the early hour. None of Rognvald's men seemed to have begrudged Yngvar for his prank on their leader. They remained friendly to him all summer. The guard at the door, still blinking sleep away, nodded toward the distant docks. "Leaving? Lucky bastards you are."

  Once inside, they found Rognvald also freshly woken at his high table. A fair-haired girl of perhaps fifteen seemed to have just awoken by his side. A dozen or more men were either seated and staring into the remnants of their dreams or else still snoring on the floor. Rognvald likely kept his men loyal by plying them with drink.

  "And what do you want?" Rognvald's voice was rough from disuse and he growled up phlegm that he spit on the floor.

  "We have finished our season of service," Yngvar said. "And are leaving this morning."

  Rognvald's face wrinkled into a frown. "You're leaving?"

  "As soon as we are done here," Yngvar said, looking to Alasdair who affirmed the decision.

  "You're leaving?" Rognvald asked again, his face brightening.

  "The ship is ready to cast off. I don't know what is expected of me now, so I thought to come tell you we have finished what we swore to do."

  "What you swore?"

  Rognvald was either still drunk or had been severely clubbed about his head since Yngvar had last spoken to him. Deciding he was wasting his time on a fool, he raised his voice so others in the hall could hear.

  "My crew and I swore to serve in King
Hakon's army for a season of service. The summer is finished as is the raiding season. So we are returning to Jarl Alrik. It was--interesting--to have served you, Rognvald. I hope we will not meet again."

  Yngvar and Alasdair were just at the exit when Rognvald called out to them. Yngvar turned to see Rognvald sitting up straight and smiling. He seemed to be searching for his words, and at last gave an almost girlish wave. "Gods see you safely home."

  On the walk to the ship, Yngvar considered the gods. He knew Alasdair was a Christian and so turned to him. "I have not made a sacrifice for the safety of our crew. The gods might not favor us. Does your god require sacrifice?"

  "Not of the kind you are speaking of, lord."

  "Good, then can you pray to him? Ask him to grant me Gamle's head and to aid me in driving my enemies into their graves."

  "You know better than to ask that of Christ," Alasdair said, looking away as they approached the ship. Yngvar noted Alasdair never called him lord when he was irritated over disrespect to his god.

  "I just thought to ask. Can you at least pray for good weather?"

  They cast off from the docks and pointed their ship at the open sea. They had a long fjord to traverse before the endless expanse of ocean greeted them, but Yngvar stood in the prow and smiled. Just knowing they were free of the crowded streets of Haugar made his heart beat faster. This entire exercise had been pointless. He was certain Rognvald had not paid them what they were owed, which might explain his happiness at his abrupt departure. Let him keep the paltry hack silver. Greater treasures awaited Yngvar and his wolves.

  Other ships fanned out behind them, including warships for patrolling this rugged coast. Vestfold was a beautiful place and the home of his ancestors. But he could not abide living here as nothing more than filler in an army that was not at war.

  The crew sang songs as they kept the wind on the sail and saw to the dozens of other duties a ship demanded. Yngvar wished he was learning more about sailing, yet found it easier to give the role to others. Stout and strong Hamar was best at the tiller, so why deny him his chance to display his skill.