"It's all there," Lopt said. "Weigh it if you must."
Grettir had carried the scales that Jarl Sigvald had provided for this purpose. Yngvar up-ended the back so that hack silver in various sizes spilled into the grass. It sparkled like gold beneath the bonfire. They weighed it handful by handful, replacing it to the bag. Yngvar marked the weight in the dirt until he had counted up to the three pounds owed.
"Am I safe again?" Lopt asked.
"Jarl Sigvald gave his word. Thank you for your wise choice."
"Of course," Lopt said, "Now I resume the dance. Please join us."
The mad pipe music started anew and the dancers continued. Yngvar backed away, entrusting the bag to Bjorn. He gathered his men together.
"We have what we need. There's a moon out tonight, so let's be gone now."
"What about sleep?" Alasdair asked. "We can't travel all night. Do you even know where we are, lord?"
"I've an idea," Yngvar said. "I'm not willing to sleep here and have my throat slit overnight. Are you?"
If anyone was about to protest, Yngvar's comment hushed them. They silently gathered their belongings and started back the way they had come. In truth, Yngvar had only a vague recollection of their path. Yet he did not trust Lopt.
As they left, the music continued, but the dancers stopped. The villagers watched them, and Yngvar hurried them along.
Once into the woods, he felt the tightness in his chest loosen. Somehow the darkness of the trees and the threat of lurking elves or wolves felt less intimidating than Lopt's strange men.
"Weren't so hard at all," Bjorn said, adjusting the sack of silver on his shoulder. "Why was everyone expecting trouble?"
"I think the gods have preserved us tonight," Yngvar said, ducking under a branch toward a clearing. He did not recognize the place and decided to call a halt. "We're far enough away now that we can camp here. In the morning we can pick up our trail and be back to Haki."
Weary from a long day, Yngvar's joints ached as he settled on the grass. He wished for the clear stream where he had cooled his feet. Others were quick to stretch out and sleep, throwing nothing more than a blanket over their shoulders and tucking their packs beneath their heads.
At the verge of sleep, Yngvar bolted upright.
Others had done the same.
The cold light of the moon showed blue and black outlines of his men. And all around, the woods were full of the sounds of snapping branches and crunching underbrush. Enemies were approaching.
Dozens of enemies.
"Get up!" Yngvar shouted. He kicked the man sleeping beside him. "Lopt wants a fight after all. Get your shields up."
"Fools," Bjorn cursed as he hefted his ax. "But I like fools. They always bring a good fight."
"Lord, look!" Alasdair pointed, and Yngvar followed.
A man stood at the clearing edge. He was dressed in furs and his sword glimmered in the moonlight. He raised a horn to his mouth and sounded it.
"Shield wall here," Yngvar shouted, planting himself to face the man who had ducked back into the woods.
Then other horns sounded, and they came from all around the forest. At least three others answered, and one was close.
"Surrounded," he said. " Make a circle then. We stand here. Alasdair, get in the middle. You're no use in the line."
They huddled into a circle, ten men against what was probably twice their number. Their shields clacked together, creating a colorful circle of protection. It was not as full as Yngvar would have wanted. To scatter his men now would condemn all of them to death. To shield wall might invite the same disaster, but at least they would die as men.
The first warriors exited the forest. They were not Lopt's men. They were tall and strong, with flowing mustaches and iron helmets. They carried round shields and long swords, but did not attack.
"Who's your leader?" Yngvar called out from behind his shield. "Come speak with me."
He counted seven men, but none answered. They crouched as if ready to flee or accept a charge. Then Yngvar heard a crash from the opposite side, and about ten more men piled out of the trees into the clearing.
"I can kill a dozen of these weaklings myself," Bjorn said. "Nothing to worry about."
Yngvar smiled at the boast, but these were not weaklings, nor were they fools. They waited for their reinforcements, now outflanking Yngvar with nearly equal numbers. When the third group arrived, they would be set in a triangle from which they could not escape. If they fled now, maybe some would escape, but most would be caught in place.
"Hold steady," Yngvar said. "Keep the circle tight and let them come to us."
"God grant us victory," Alasdair said from within the circle of warriors. "Let us smite the heathen with your righteous anger. And let none of my companions fart while I am surrounded by their asses."
Yngvar stood up straight at the jest. Despite the danger, he broke into laughter. Bjorn did as well, then all ten of his men were laughing. Tears came to his eyes and the shield wall loosened. The enemy too raised from their wary crouches, looking to each other.
But Yngvar continued to laugh even as the surprise wore off. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sword hand. "Keep laughing. It's confusing them."
The third group exploded from the underbrush, their swords drawn and shields high. Yet they caught up short at the sight of Yngvar and his men doubling over. Laughter came easily. Fear and tension before a battle needed release either in rage or in laughter. It mattered little how it was expelled. So they kept laughing and the enemy slowly lowered their shields, then began to approach.
Finally one man stood before the others. He was the tallest warrior, young and boasting gold chains and bands about his arms. His face was drawn into a frown. When he spoke it was with a strange accent.
"Do you laugh at death so easily? Will you laugh when I cut your guts out?"
Yngvar forced his laughter to continue, shaking his head at the man and pointing at him as if he were something to see. This angered the man more.
"You are fools! I was summoned here to fight fools. You are not worthy of my sword."
"No," Yngvar said through his laughter. "No, we are not worthy of your sword. You are not worthy of mine either. What is all of this nonsense? Only fools run through a forest at night to have a battle under moonlight. We are all mad. This is madness."
The tall man turned to his companions who shrugged at him. He pointed with his sword. "Are you Einar Magnusson?"
"No," Yngvar said, finally catching his breath. "That is not my name. That was a lie. We are not Sigvald's men. Not yet."
"What are you doing?" Bjorn said, grabbing Yngvar by the shoulder. "You want Thorfast to die?"
He turned to him. "And would all of us dying help him live? Trust me, cousin. I have a new idea. Give me the silver."
Bjorn's face was tight with anger, but he sloughed the bag from his shoulder and shoved it into Yngvar's arms.
"You are here because Lopt called you with his bonfire and song. Am I right?" The tall man nodded. "Well, here's the silver."
Yngvar sent the sack flying through the air to crunch at the man's feet. He did not look at it but stared at Yngvar with a raised brow.
"My name is Yngvar Hakonsson. I am sworn to Hakon the Good, King of Norway. I have twenty more men that are hostages to Sigvald right now."
"Then you just killed them all," the man said as one of his companions retrieved the silver.
"It might be. But I have a plan you will want to hear. At least take us back to Lopt and let him hear what I offer. You can kill us then if you don't like it."
"You've gone mad," Bjorn said. "You just killed Thorfast. Do you know that?"
Yngvar brushed him off. He did gamble with Thorfast's life. He gambled with all their lives. But they were trapped and defeated, and he had to gamble something or else end his life in a pointless battle.
"You're all fools," the enemy leader said. "But lay down your weapons and we will hear your offer. I am not an unre
asonable man."
Yngvar set his sword in the grass, as did the others. Bjorn was the last to throw down his ax and glared at Yngvar.
Now to see how inspired he could become.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lopt's stone eye seemed just as alive as his flesh eye, except it was not bloodshot with drink and the late hour. The old chief's smile deepened the wrinkles about his eyes as he looked down on Yngvar, who sat in the grass with his men by the bonfire they had recently fled. The dancers now joined the other warriors, forming a mass of shadows before the flames.
"I told you a discussion at midnight would be better, but you chose to flee." Lopt paused before the tall warrior who spoke with a strange accent and set his hand on the man's shoulder. "But Waldhar and his warriors were kind enough to bring you back."
"Saxons," Hamar said from behind Yngvar. "I steered us farther south than I ever thought."
"Yes, Saxons," Lopt said. "Waldhar is my son-in-law and his people live over the hills on the borders of their own kingdom. We watch out for each other and warn of danger with bonfires. So Sigvald had never been able to bring all his men inland to deal with me. Waldhar can bring other warriors with his bonfires, and so it is like kicking a beehive. Sigvald knows better than to waste his men in such a battle. But he does not worry to waste a nobody like you, Einar. Or is it Yngvar? Your lies have me confused."
"I am Yngvar. You and I share a common enemy in Gorm the Old and all the Danes who serve him."
Waldhar stroked his long mustache and laughed. Despite his accented Norse, his speech seemed clearer to Yngvar than the Danes.
"So ten men come to challenge Gorm the Old in his homeland. I respect your bravery, but you are fools."
"There are thirty of us," Yngvar said. "And you must know we are not here to wage open battle. We spy for Hakon the Good and take what opportunities we can find to make trouble for Gorm. That is what I want to discuss tonight. I can offer you something neither of you have ever achieved but have long desired."
Both Waldhar and Lopt looked at each other. Lopt sat down in the grass before Yngvar and spoke as if to a young child.
"What can you know of my long-held desires, and what can you offer me? You are my prisoners and the rest of your men are captives of Sigvald. You have nothing to offer."
"I offer you Sigvald's fortress," Yngvar said. He folded his arms, hoping to project more confidence than he felt while also concealing his trembling hands.
In the shadowy light of the bonfire, Lopt's open mouth looked like a black hole in his face. Waldhar leaned back in laughter, and his men joined him.
"Such an offer," Lopt said. "Can I have it tonight? Waldhar, I claim the mead hall for my own. You can have the midden pits."
"Your generosity is great," Waldhar said through his laughter. "Will you at least invite me to feast in your new hall?"
"It is not a jest," Yngvar said, cutting above the laughter. "In fact, I am betting my life you have all eyed the fortress for yourselves. It is a key to the north, is it not? Waldhar, you Saxons hate the Danes no matter what your alliance is with Lopt. Wouldn't that fortress be a foothold to bring more warriors north? A spear pointed at Gorm the Old's heart in Jelling. And you, Lopt, how many of those battle scars did you earn fighting Sigvald or the one who held that fort before him? In the same way Sigvald has to funnel his men to your lands, so you must funnel your men onto his, but they are behind high walls. You squat here, but dream of that mead hall, don't you?"
Both leaders grew quiet and Yngvar knew he had struck the core of their desires. He unfolded his arms and leaned forward.
"But now I am here with thirty men. We will be inside that fort. What would Sigvald do to find you and Waldhar at his walls and me with my men opening the gates to you? He might have two hundred men, and if you lined up before the walls then of course his archers would destroy you. But if you flood into his town, his numbers mean nothing. We will have not only opened the gates to you, but prepared fires to burn around the town. Sigvald's warriors would not be able to mass up, which is the main strength of such numbers. You will also add us to your own numbers as well."
"It is a fine plan," Lopt said guardedly. "But how do you gain Sigvald's trust, seeing how you are my prisoners?"
"Let us go tonight with the tribute," Yngvar said. "By tomorrow morning we meet our guide and all is as it was supposed to be."
"It's all a feint to get the silver and return to Sigvald," Waldhar said. "You should cut out the snake's tongue from this one and sell the rest into slavery."
"But it could work," Lopt said. "If the gates are opened to us, we will have cleared the only thing that has challenged me all these years. Sigvald has lost his best men to a shipwreck. Now the gods send us this young fool from Norway. We might have a chance, Waldhar."
"He is a liar by nature." Waldhar's blond hair glowed with the backlight of the bonfire. "Can you be sure he'll honor his word?"
"I'll give you my brother as a hostage," Yngvar said. His hands ran cold and his heart thudded. He knew this was cruel, but he knew he could trust Alasdair. He turned to him, and Alasdair did nothing more than nod acceptance. "He is my father's bastard son, but we are reunited as brothers. He will remain with you until that gate opens on the day of the attack."
Waldhar let go a long sigh, but Lopt did not move. His single eye swept over Alastair, but his stone eye seemed to examine Yngvar's soul. At last he nodded.
"The boy will be well treated. Waldhar, can you summon your allies in time? We cannot let this opportunity grow stale. Thirty men cannot keep a secret, no matter if their leader's brother is ransomed to it. Best to act fast."
"The fires will call them," Waldhar said. "But if that gate does not open, we will abandon you. We are not prepared for a siege before winter. We must succeed in one stroke or else we return to our homes."
Lopt nodded. "I have waited all my life for this chance. Tell me, Yngvar, did Sigvald brag to you about how he has tamed me where the jarls before him fought me? It was only because I've grown old along with my warriors. It was easier to pay his silver and live our desperate lives in peace. But that fort was part of my father's land once. To have it back again, even at my age, is worth gambling on your plan. In fact, I've little to lose. If that gate is closed to me when I arrive, I'll return to the life I've always led, and I've got a new slave in the bargain. But if it is open, then a lifetime dream is at hand. Even if I am slain, it will be within those walls. I will be happy then."
Lopt concluded the deal with a mad laugh. He then thrust the bag of silver into Yngvar's hands with a promise of a guide to lead them safely back through the woods at first light. Yngvar and the others were grateful for the opportunity to sleep if only for a few hours, but he remained awake. The moon above was bright in his eyes as he wondered at his choices. He had spared his men this night, but was he delaying their deaths until tomorrow? Once he betrayed Sigvald, he would have to betray Lopt, otherwise he had merely allied himself with Saxons. King Hakon wanted him close to Gorm. He was playing this situation on his wits alone, and hoping to find a way back to the path he had lost.
They traveled wearily back to Haki the next morning. Leaving Alasdair had been tough, but he played his role well. He embraced Yngvar and winked at him, "Do not worry for me, brother. I can care for myself. I know we will be reunited soon."
Haki had camped as promised and simply stared at the bag of silver without a word. It was almost as if their return offended him, for he traveled ahead of the group and never once rested or looked back at them until the dark walls of Sigvald's fort jutted over the horizon.
"In two days that fort will belong to the Saxons," Bjorn said, keeping his voice low despite the distance from Haki. "If they've so much as messed Alasdair's hair, I will kill the lot of them."
"I thought you didn't like him?"
Bjorn shrugged. "His praying is irritating, but he's got his uses. He's loyal, I'll give him that. Had you offered me as a hostage, I'd have strangled you."
"Well, I've not seen that myself. What if Sigvald misses him?"
"Sigvald didn't even see him leave," Yngvar said. "But if he asks, then we mix some lies with the truth. We bargained Alasdair's life for the tribute and to show Sigvald's good faith."
They were welcomed back into the fort through an opened gate. Yngvar now studied it carefully, as he would have to get one or two of these gates open without being caught. Curious warriors led them to the mead hall at the center of the village. The day was nearing its end with gray clouds crowding out the last of the sun. No one spoke to them. Haki had simply explained the tribute was in hand and nothing more. At the doors to the hall, the guards there gave Yngvar strange looks. Did they believe he would not return? It pleased him to know their surprise.
Once inside the hall, their weapons surrendered at the doors, they were still surrounded by armed men.
"We got the damned tribute," Bjorn said to one. "No need to guard us like this."
"Where's Thorfast?" Yngvar asked of the guard next to him. When he didn't reply, Yngvar faced the man squarely. "Look, tell me if he's alive at least."
The guard blinked rapidly and looked aside. Yet he nodded his head. "His condition is the same."
The hall was lit with hearth fire, and with so many men packed inside, the heat and scent of sweat was too much. Yngvar's brow prickled and the bag of silver over his shoulder weighed on him. At last Sigvald entered through a side door. Two guards dressed in heavy fur cloaks entered behind him, and following them came the bent seidkona Yngvar had forgotten. The sight of her watery eyes and smug smile filled his belly with fiery dread.
Sigvald took up his chair at the high stage and set both hands on his knees. He stared at Yngvar with a thin smile, waiting to be addressed.
"We have collected the tribute from Lopt," Yngvar said. He lowered his head and set the silver at the foot of the stage. Hamar came forward and set the scales loaned to him alongside it. "It is three pounds as you requested."
Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2) Page 10
