Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  He waved the hazel branch, had his men stand down without shields or weapons, and silently prayed the Danes would not scour his deck with arrows. At last, a young, blond-haired man stood on the rail of one ship, holding to the rigging. "What's your business here?"

  "We have fled Norway and are looking to serve Gorm the Old."

  The young man laughed. "Why yes! He's waiting for you on the beach."

  "Then you'll take us to him?" Yngvar called back. The other ship circled behind Yngvar's. The young man nodded, "Follow us in, and when we land you'll wait on deck to be led ashore."

  Hamar guided the ship, and Yngvar went to Bjorn and Thorfast. He knelt beside his friend, whose face glistened with sweat. His flesh looked slack and waxen and his white hair was limp against his face, pressed flat across his forehead where Bjorn continued to exchange wet cloths.

  "He's talking nonsense," Bjorn said.

  "Not unusual for him." Yngvar tried to laugh, but it became a dry cough. Instead he touched Thorfast's exposed arm. In just a day it seemed to have withered.

  The flesh was burning hot. He pulled his hand back as if he had touched an ember. Bjorn grimaced in acknowledgment.

  Yngvar knelt back on his feet and looked to the crew. Those rowing nearby snapped their heads aside when Yngvar looked at them. Alasdair was kneeling in the shadow of the gunwales, hands clasped in prayer before a wooden cross set against the side.

  "I've never felt a fever so high," Yngvar said, his voice a harsh whisper. The ship rocked and creaked beneath him, for a moment only the rhythmic slashing of the oars made any noise. At last Bjorn sniffled.

  "He just started to burn up." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm. "I don't know if he's going to make it. How long before we get him help?"

  Yngvar stood, steadying himself against the sway of the deck. The shore was still a dark strip. Then they had to meet the local jarl and persuade him.

  "I don't know," he said, his voice hoarse. "Longer than the time we have."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Yngvar pumped his legs and folded his arms to work off his frustration. He stood with Bjorn, Grettir, and Hamar at the foot of the long path leading up toward the distant fort. Their so-called escorts milled around discussing trivialities. Yngvar found the Danish accents confusing. The men spoke as if they were all drunk, running words together into piles that made no sense. Not knowing what they discussed, despite hearing enough to know they were wasting time, made his fists tighten and teeth grind.

  "Thorfast can't hold on much longer," Bjorn said. His words were so tentative and soft, Yngvar stared at him as if he had become another person.

  "I know that. Do you think I can hurry twenty drunkards? Alasdair is praying to his god for him. It's all anyone can do right now."

  They had come halfway up the shore, and Yngvar glanced down at their beached ships leaned on the sand. The crowd of guards surrounding his ship and crew seemed like a black swarm of insects. They were hostages to Yngvar's good conduct and peaceful intentions. If he could only get these Danes to understand he would swear loyalty to a goat right now if it meant aid for Thorfast.

  At last their guards had settled their trifles and the column resumed the climb. This seaside fort was held by a local jarl whose name Yngvar did not remember. This jarl ruled a large swath of land and was loyal to Gorm the Old. The fort where he ruled was on a high mound of earth topped with a timber wall. A gate and tower stood beside the entrance, and men watched their approach with apparent boredom. Yngvar guessed they could see far into the ocean horizon from that vantage. The surrounding lands were green fields and patches of bosky woods.

  More time vanished at the gate as men called between the wall and ground. Were all Danes so talkative? After much joking, where Yngvar nearly bit through his bottom lip, the gate swung open and admitted them inside.

  They followed roads paved with wooden boards. King Hakon had entrusted Yngvar to be observant, but now all he saw was a typical Norse town where people spoke strangely. Otherwise, the chickens in their pens, the carts of hay and the spindly-legged ponies that pulled them, the small-eyed, old women who came to ogle them, and the blithely ignorant children who ran alongside them were like any others he had seen in other towns.

  "There has to be a healer in all this," he said under his breath. Bjorn surprised him, speaking loudly over his shoulder.

  "If there ain't, I'm going to kill every last one of these bastards for wasting my time."

  The main hall was at the center of a wide ground trampled into flat dirt. The timbers of the hall were gray and stained black with age. Given how much time Yngvar had spent thatching roofs over the summer, he noted the thatch here was in good repair. His guards shuffled them all inside where the air went stale with bad beer and a fishy odor. The smoke hole let in the only light that turned milky with the smoke still lingering from the hearth. At the far end was the man Yngvar had been longing to meet.

  The jarl sat on a stage set much higher than any Yngvar had seen before. He had dark hair that had turned stark white at the temples. His beard was grizzled with gray but neatly combed. A long, thin face gave his sharp nose and deeply lined cheeks a predatory cast. He wore a chain of gold heavy enough to tow a long ship.

  His guard introduced them, "Jarl Sigvald, here is the leader of a ship of thirty men who say they wish to serve you. They surrendered peacefully, lord, and the crew is being held voluntarily under guard with their ship."

  So Danes could speak clearly if they wished. Though to Yngvar, the words still seemed slurred. He stepped forward and knelt before the jarl.

  "I am Einar Magnusson," he said. He had chosen the name for a close friend of his grandfather and father, a giant warrior who had wielded an ax with the ease of a waving a twig. "My crew and I have left Norway since the coming of Hakon. He brings weakness and shame to our people, forcing his Christian god upon us. We seek someone better to serve. Gorm the Old is said to be the rule of all Denmark. We would serve him instead."

  Jarl Sigvald's dark eyes narrowed at him, and his long fingers ran through his beard. "You have come far south if you seek Gorm's service. Jelling is north of here, where you could offer your swords to him directly."

  Yngvar's mouth opened but he had no answer. He fought the urge to scowl at Hamar standing behind him. Yet he did not know the way south any better than Hamar, who had misjudged their location. Yngvar thought of Thorfast and the other injured who could be enjoying treatment now were it not for time wasted.

  Jarl Sigvald gave a short chuckle. "So you do not know where you are. If you continued another day you would be greeting Saxons, and they would not welcome you onto their beaches. Fortunately for you, I have stopped you."

  "And I am grateful for it," Yngvar said. "We have had troubles on the way south. Raiders from Norway tried their swords against us and died for their foolishness. But a few of my men were gravely injured in the battle. I would ask aid for these men. I have silver to pay for their care."

  Nodding and stroking his beard, Sigvald's eyes glanced around the hall. Yngvar only now became aware of the other guards surrounding them. They carried spears and dressed in mail. The carefree crew that had escorted them to the hall were now replaced with dour guardsmen.

  "It is strange to me," Sigvald said. "That you have come so far without anyone else discovering you. It leads me to believe you were avoiding the coast, and explains why you might have missed Jelling on the way here."

  "Of course we wanted to avoid the coast," Yngvar said. "We are but a single ship and I am no fool. How many along this coast might consider us a prize to be captured? I wanted to get to Jelling, but it seems I have steered us too far south."

  "Yet now I am in the position of treating you as a prize as well," Sigvald leaned forward on his chair. "Why should I do any less?"

  "Because we are worth more to you than just slaves. I bring a good ship and strong men seeking a new home. Take my ship and sell us on the slave markets, if you will. But a lifetime of ser
vice is worth more, is it not? We need to serve a new jarl, and what jarl would not benefit from a full crew of fighting men? We bring no women or children, only our mail and swords."

  "That is thirty more men to feed over winter. I have not provisioned for that."

  "We will take from the Saxons. The sea does not freeze this far south. We can earn our own keep, if you will have us."

  Yngvar let his eyes drop. His throat had dried out and he worried his flush might reveal his fear. This was the worst part of Hakon's bargain. He had given Yngvar no way into Denmark. He had led a naive crew into what could become a lifetime of slavery. Most jarls were not prepared for an influx of people at the start of winter. The right answer to that dilemma would be slavery or death for the captives and taking all else of value. If Thorfast had not been injured, he could have negotiated terms with only risk to himself while his crew remained a safe distance away.

  Sigvald leaned back once again, folding his arms and smiling. "You are not here accidentally, are you?"

  Yngvar stole a glance at Bjorn, whose face was slack with boredom. Yngvar admired his cousin's ability to not worry for the future. He then frowned and shook his head. "We are here on Fate's chance only."

  "Exactly so! I lost a ship of good men this summer. Ran's net snared the ship in a storm and dragged good men to their deaths. I paid the blood price to the families, cried with them for the deaths of their loved ones, and did as my position demands. I sacrificed to the gods and begged they soothe the suffering of my people. And now your ship arrives on my beaches as if the very men who went to Ran's bed have returned again. Tell me, did the gods give you a sign to guide you here?"

  Again Yngvar found his mouth agape. Had Thorfast been with him by now he would've filled Jarl Sigvald's ears with descriptions of dozens of visions, each one more amazing than the last. Yet Yngvar was not as glib as his friend.

  "I suppose they must have," he said, half laughing at his good fortune. "We too made sacrifices for safe travel and success of our hopes. So perhaps the gods have heard both of us and set us together."

  "I knew it must be so!" Sigvald clapped his hands and his somewhat sinister appearance evaporated with his glee. The jarl looked around his hall, nodding at each man. In the shadows behind him, an old woman with eyes gone white with cataracts sat on a bench. She wore a black robe with a hood that hid most of her gray hair. She fingered a long rod of ash wood. She was a seidkona, Yngvar did not doubt. He swallowed at the prospect of meeting a woman of such magical powers and hoped she would not reveal his true intentions.

  "Then you would accept our oaths of service?" Yngvar asked, at last daring a smile. "And see to our injured companions."

  "The gods have made it so," Sigvald said, standing from his chair. "Your men will not be allowed their weapons for a short time. Of course you will understand. But tonight we shall welcome you with a feast."

  "Thorfast needs help now," Bjorn said, pushing in front of Yngvar. "He's got a fever from his wounds."

  Sigvald's good mood remained unperturbed with Bjorn's disrespect. In fact, he leapt down from the stage and put his arm around Bjorn.

  "Your concern is admirable. I'll have your wounded looked at by a healer, of course. Now, Einar, let us go greet your crew together."

  Yngvar did not respond, only realizing that Einar was his name as far as Sigvald knew. So he shook his head and laughed. "Yes, I am just amazed at my good fortune."

  The crew was understandably relieved. The more experienced men realized how reckless they had been in blindly approaching a jarl as they had. But the gods had favored them, and now Yngvar could begin to consider Hakon's mission. He was not in Jelling yet, but he at least had a foothold in Denmark.

  Thorfast mumbled and gleamed with sweat. Both Bjorn and Yngvar carried him to the healer, and Alasdair walked behind with his wooden cross gripped in his small hands. Once the healer, a middle-aged woman with a mousy face, set about her work, Yngvar felt the tension drain. Thorfast was on a pallet covered with straw in a small and dark room within the healer's home. Strange, pungent smells filled the place. But the woman seemed competent. At last Yngvar pulled Alasdair aside and shoved the wooden cross down.

  "We're here because we hate Christians, remember? Don't flash that around so much."

  Alasdair said nothing and dutifully tucked the cross into his shirt.

  That night, after a good meal where Yngvar met several of Sigvald's men, he and Bjorn were again summoned to the jarl at his high seat. The look of merriment had vanished and the sharp, stern look of the earlier day returned. Now Yngvar clearly saw the wizened old woman behind the jarl, her blind eyes nevertheless looking into his own. He turned aside, unsettled.

  "Well, Einar Magnusson, you must tell me more about where you have come from. Who is Magnus?"

  "Magnus?"

  "Your father."

  "Oh, yes. Well, he's a man of no account. A drunk, really. Never spoke much to him."

  Sigvald nodded. "And your relationship to the injured man you were so concerned about?"

  "He is one of my crew."

  "You seemed deeply concerned, more than just a leader for his crewman."

  "We've always been together, lord."

  Now Sigvald's dark eyes shot to Bjorn. "And who are you?"

  "Bjo-Brand the Strong." He glanced at Yngvar, who ignored his mistake. Sigvald seemed to wince at the error.

  "Bjo-Brand is a strange name, indeed."

  "Was just thinking of my cousin Bjorn, is all. He loves a good feast like this one."

  Yngvar's heart raced. Of course, now he realized that Sigvald might be piecing together a description of Yngvar and his fellow wolves. Erik and Gamle both described him in terms of his friends, and all of them were distinctive. But could his bounty be known this far south? They were supposedly almost in Saxon lands. What reach did Erik have?

  Sigvald tapped the side of his long, sharp nose as he studied them. At last he leaned forward.

  "Before I accept your oaths, I must know you are both capable and loyal men. Otherwise, perhaps you are not what the gods intended to send me. Perhaps a demonstration of your good intent is needed."

  Yngvar gave a slight bow. He felt the intensity of eyes upon his back, both his men and Sigvald's.

  "You only need name the task. We will do it for you, lord."

  "Not we, but you and ten of your crew." Sigvald sat up straighter now, looking out across the hall. "I am owed tribute and taxes from a bothersome settlement to the south of here. You are to collect what is owed and bring it to me."

  When no further demands were made, Yngvar looked around astonished. "Is that all, lord? It should not be trouble to retrieve what is owed you."

  A ripple of laughter circled behind Yngvar. Sigvald smiled as if speaking to a child. "That is all. I think you will find it enough. And until you return, your crew and your injured friend will remain as hostages to your good faith. Please don't fail, or I will have thrown this feast for no reason."

  Yngvar swallowed hard. Behind Sigvald, the blind seidkona, the witch, let a tiny smile escape to her thin lips.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Yngvar patted Thorfast's hand. He lay on his bed, groggy with fever and his skin the color of ash. If this were any other man, Yngvar would dismiss him as good as dead. The crudely sutured wound was piled with stinking poultices, and a block of ash wood pressed his side closest to the red flesh. The ash would draw out evil spirits and allow the poultice to work. He was the last to kneel beside Thorfast, and his knees cracked as he crouched.

  "We'll return soon. You're getting the best care," Yngvar said. Thorfast's head rolled toward him and his eyes barely opened. They were glassy and colorless. Yngvar smiled. "You're not going to let this overcome you. We have too many adventures ahead of us yet. Remember, you have to live long enough to see me marry your sister."

  Thorfast reached out a trembling hand to Yngvar's chest. He gathered the cloak and gently tugged Yngvar closer.

  "My sister h
ates you."

  "That's your fever talking. Rest and we will be back before you realize we were ever gone."

  Thorfast smiled and closed his eyes, and for a moment Yngvar thought he had passed. Then the healer woman pulled him by the shoulder.

  "It's enough for one day. He'll be here when you get back."

  But would he be alive, Yngvar wondered. Outside the small house, Bjorn and his nine other picked men waited. Bjorn's mouth was bent with his foul mood.

  "If he's dead when we get back, I'll cut out that witch's heart and eat it while she watches."

  "He'll be fine," Yngvar said, feigning confidence. "This task won't take long."

  In addition to Bjorn, Yngvar had selected his nine best men. Alasdair also accompanied him, but Jarl Sigvald had not counted the young man as one of the appointed number. That Alasdair was so underestimated was his greatest advantage. Yngvar was glad to have him along. They all squinted in the morning sun behind Yngvar. They were allowed to dress for war, so now carried shields and swords. Though mail shirts enhanced a ferocious appearance, to travel in one was torment. They had no baggage train to carry the heavy armor. So they opted for their thickest furs and iron helmets. If a fur was heavy enough, it was as good as mail and far more portable. Yngvar had no such skin, and looking at the others, his own gray cloak suddenly felt too light on his shoulders.

  Sigvald had also provided a guide, Haki. He was tall and lithe, almost feminine. His golden hair was thin and shining, and he seemed to know a secret that kept him constantly on the verge of laughter. Yngvar disliked him on sight. He seemed false and smug. Yet, he had no one else to rely upon in these foreign lands.

  "It will be a few days," Haki said. "So Jarl Sigvald has prepared us rations. Plenty of streams for water along the way. Let's not waste any more time."

  Checking on Thorfast had not been a waste of time. But Yngvar said nothing, sure he was hearing more than what Haki actually said.