Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  "This is fresh blood," Yngvar said. "And now we've got to hide this body."

  "Leave him," Bjorn said. "Who's to say someone from his own side didn't hate him and killed him? Hiding the body just makes it look like someone should be guilty."

  They put as much space between the corpse and themselves as they could. Despite the chill, Bjorn ditched his blood-soaked shirt. Yngvar could not lose his pants, where the majority of blood had sprayed. Yet his pants were also darker and hid the blood better. They at last entered the main streets and no one seemed to notice the fresh stains, or if they did notice they said nothing.

  The frenetic day ended in drunken revels by the Saxon victors. As Yngvar thought, plenty of lordless Danes were among the Saxons number, and these men greeted him and his men warmly. They seemed eager to validate their choices, and Yngvar was only happy to bolster their sense of righteousness. When the celebrations ended, the first watches were set on the walls and the doors closed. Yngvar rejoined Thorfast and slept off his drink.

  For days after, Yngvar continued to worry their planned deception would be exposed. Yet nothing came of it. Lopt and Waldhar seemed to forget him, busy as they were with carrying away spoils and dividing captives and gold. Sigvald's cache of treasure was unburied from beneath his hall, and from the rumors circulating it was a mighty horde. Lopt had Sigvald's head and the heads of his other leaders moved to the walls facing the sea. The Saxons cheered the gesture, but at the same time that section of wall was left alone. No one wanted to be cursed by vengeful spirits.

  True to his word, Lopt kept a healer assigned to Thorfast. He recovered better than ever, his wounds sewn again and his fever completely vanished. He would still not be flexible for many weeks yet, but the color had returned to his cheeks and Thorfast was again chattering away to anyone he could find. He was healed.

  Lopt's care of his best friend dampened Yngvar's enthusiasm for betrayal. For all his strangeness, Lopt was a fair and just man. Waldhar, too, could have been a friend in another life. So one night during their evening meal when more victory toasts were made and more outlandish battle tales were told, Yngvar tried to warn them away. It was not to his benefit, but he felt obligated to try.

  "Lopt, you must know the Danes will not sit by while we feast here," Yngvar said. Lopt had a young girl captive, one of Sigvald's women, sitting on his lap. She held his horn when he spoke.

  "But winter will be here soon, and this fort is provisioned well. The Danes will not have any real teeth until next spring."

  Waldhar, who was drunk, belched then added his assessment. "Let them come. This land belonged to our ancestors. We're not giving it back. No one can reach behind these walls. We tried all these years."

  Ancestors again, Yngvar thought. So the Danes claimed ancestors owned coastal Norway, and the Saxons claimed ancestors owned southern Denmark. Men must have been busy and far-traveled in those long-ago days. Either that or ancestors provided the best excuse for battles. He thought the latter most accurate.

  "Still, men must go home to their families," Waldhar continued, his shoulders slumping. "They never intended to stay here all winter. Their own homes need protection."

  "A handful of men can keep these walls safe," Lopt said.

  "A heavy ram could break the gates," Yngvar said. "The Danes will eventually succeed. Gorm can bring armies that dwarf yours. I know you love this place, but raze it to the ground and deny it to the Danes. You cannot hold it against them forever. I fear if you stay, you will be killed."

  "Yes, the Danes will succeed--my Danes will!" Lopt tickled the girl on his lap, who squirmed and laughed. Those nearby broke into a cheer. Yngvar decided he had tried enough and shook his head.

  "The one called Yngvar is a traitor! He can't be trusted."

  The voice silenced the merry hall and set Yngvar's stomach fluttering. He sat up at the accusation, a tingle on his skin for every eye that swerved toward him.

  "Who slanders me?" Yngvar said, knocking his drink back as he stood. If he had to lie, he had to do it with conviction. He kicked the table with his rage, and every mug jumped and sloshed in answer.

  A woman stepped forward. He eyes were like lusterless black stone and her hair full and wavy brown. Her skin was dusky and foreign, but she spoke with the slurred accent of a true Dane.

  "You betrayed your jarl," she said, tilting her head back to reveal a fine jaw. "And now you will betray us."

  Under any other circumstance she would be alluring. Now he wished she would vanish. He glanced at Bjorn and Alasdair, then to Hamar and Grettir. Each one was frozen in place, as if unsure whether to flee or fight. He whirled back on the woman.

  "And your proof?" he asked. "That's a heavy accusation, from a whore no less."

  "Careful," Lopt said, shoving the captive girl from his lap. His stone eye did not move, but his good eye narrowed. "You are speaking to my youngest daughter. Now what do you know, girl?"

  Yngvar scowled, hoping he would not seem as nervous as he felt. What did the girl know, and how had she discovered it?

  "I've heard his injured friend. I've listened at the walls, Father. I do not trust men who will not swear an oath as these have failed to do. The white-haired man talks about the coming of Gorm the Old's warriors. Yngvar and his company are waiting for them to arrive."

  The girl now lowered her head and staggered. She was drunk. So was everyone else. Yet Yngvar, deciding she had caught the gist of their plans, had to assuage her.

  "Of course!" he said, raising both hands over his head. "What was I just saying? The Danish king will not lie down for this. He will come with his war host and batter down the gates."

  "No, he speaks of joining with Gorm. Something about closeness and the king."

  Gods, Thorfast, it'd have been best to have your lips sewn shut.

  "So you've heard this how? Through a wall? Is it possible you misunderstood?" Yngvar stepped closer to the girl, who did not back down but matched his sneer.

  "Of course you would deny it," she said. She turned to Lopt, dropping to her knees before him. "Listen to me, Father. I know what I heard. Only yesterday. The white-haired one sounded glad to welcome Gorm. They are plotting something, I know it."

  Both Waldhar and Lopt were now looking at Yngvar as if seeing him for the first time. The dark-haired beauty who was Lopt's daughter sneered up at him, still on her knees and holding her father's age-spotted hands. He returned the sneer.

  "I plan nothing more than what I've already told you. We are here to learn what we can of Gorm the Old and aid his enemies. We have done so. When my companions are healed of their wounds, I will take my ship and return to Norway."

  "So you say," Waldhar said, now stroking his mustache. "But I agree with the girl. You've got a strange look about you. What are you hiding?"

  If only Thorfast were here, he'd have the wits to talk them out of this situation. Yngvar bit his lip.

  "If I hide anything, it was the foolish hope that I might extend an offer of alliance with the Norse. King Hakon the Good would want to know men like you could occupy Gorm for many years. He might send support to you so that you continue to drain Gorm of his resources. He has not allowed me such powers as to make this alliance, but I had hoped to discuss this offer in more privacy."

  Waldhar nodded, but did not comment. Lopt stared at him then set his daughter's hands aside. "No matter your intentions, my daughter is true. You've sworn yourself to no one."

  "I am sworn to King Hakon."

  "But you live beneath my roof in my hall and carry weapons in my streets."

  "And my men have bled for you to be in this hall." Yngvar drew closer, ignoring the daughter. "Nor have you produced any silver or other rewards we have discussed. Now you countenance an insult to my honor in your hall. Who should be aggrieved?"

  He leveled his gaze at Lopt, whose lone eye was red-rimmed with drink. At last he laughed and waved his hand before his face. "Peace! You've spoken truly."

  "Father, I know what I heard." The
daughter stood, small hands balled into fists.

  "I don't doubt what you heard, but you've brought no one else to support your claim. Yngvar and his men have demonstrated their trustworthiness. Whatever you heard, you've misunderstood it. Leave it at that."

  The girl inclined her head, gave Yngvar a piercing stare, then tramped out of the hall. Yngvar watched her leave, her slender form disappearing into the night. Neither Alasdair nor Bjorn had moved a hair's breadth during the exchange, and Yngvar wished they would relax. He stood in front of them, hoping neither Waldhar nor Lopt noticed their obvious guilt.

  "Peace, Lopt Stone-Eye," he said. "Enough for one night. Continue your celebrations without us."

  He grabbed Alasdair, nearly throwing him from his seat. Bjorn roused himself and along with the rest of his men made for the exit. The Saxons watched them now, whereas at the start of the night they had passed as one of them. Outside the night air was bracing and fresh.

  "I know you're up to something." The daughter's voice was shrill and made Yngvar raise his shoulders. She stood by the open doorway, yellow light coloring half her face. "My father is wrong to trust you. I'll be watching."

  Bjorn turned to her, then stepped closer. She did not back away but folded her arms.

  "Lass, I don't care if you think you're Odin's daughter. One more insult from you and I'll pull your head through your rotten cunt. Understand?"

  Lopt's daughter blinked wildly. The girl's mouth moved as if to speak, but she instead stormed off. Bjorn watched her leave, then turned back with a wry smile.

  "I think she understands," he said.

  They did not speak on their return to their barracks. Yngvar realized the seeds of doubt had been planted and he would not get the chance to open the gates to Gorm's men. Perhaps he should just leave and call his mission a failure. But he shook his head at the thought. Fate might smile on him yet.

  Or curse him to die as a traitor.

  Another week passed, and the damage done was obvious. Men were cordial and friendly, but guarded. He and his crew were outsiders. Waldhar left with most of his men, but it did nothing to alleviate the mistrust. Thorfast healed rapidly and could walk unaided. He was contrite for having exposed them all with his careless chatter. Lopt watched Yngvar with more care than before. A barrier had gone up between them, and Yngvar did not know how to bring it down.

  Then one dawn horns blared and men gathered on the walls.

  The warriors of King Gorm the Old had come to reclaim their lost fort and had surrounded them during the night.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Yngvar stared down from the walls. The cold timbers were rough on his hands as he leaned forward. The besiegers had ringed the fort, setting up camps that must have been cold and dark in the night. Not a single fire had been lit, assuring complete surprise with the dawn. Now a ring of warriors like black ants engulfed them. Banners of all different colors flopped in the light wind, reds, yellows, greens, and whites all vying to be most prominent. Yngvar did not recognize a single standard.

  "How many?" Bjorn yelled from below. He, Thorfast, Alasdair, and the rest of his crew were gathered there. One of Waldhar's Saxons stood a short distance from Yngvar, staring at the besiegers. He gave a wan smile in response to Bjorn's question.

  "Maybe just enough to challenge you," Yngvar called down. He set his foot on the ladder and climbed down to join his crew.

  "So there must be thousands," Bjorn said, smiling. Yngvar matched it, but felt no joy at the upcoming battle.

  "Not so many, but enough to hem us in for the winter, if they choose."

  Thorfast shook his head. "No one is going to camp out there all winter. They'll want to overrun the walls before the weather turns."

  Alasdair squinted up at the clouds. "That's at least a month away yet, maybe more. I can't tell this far south."

  Yngvar shook his head. If this was the distant south, what would Frankia be to his young friend? His smile was fleeting, for across the paths was a small knot of people staring at Yngvar and his men. He did not need to know it was Lopt's olive-skinned daughter, Gyna, who watched. She was always shadowing him, waiting for some sign of trickery. Yet he had provided her none.

  Most importantly because he had no plan for what to do next.

  He had planned to wait for Thorfast to recover, hoping the time would fill with grand plans. But inspiration had not found him. So Gyna's dark eyes could flicker with suspicion and hatred but to no avail. He was truly without a plan.

  Smiling at Gyna, he led his men away. "We should be dressed for battle, in case the walls are breached."

  By midmorning a parley of sorts was held at the northern gate. Yngvar was not invited, holding no special place in Lopt's hall, but he caught the gist of the exchange from street-level. In case he might misjudge, Lopt helped everyone understand his intentions when he urinated off the walls toward his attackers then dropped his pants to expose his backside. Men cheered the display, as did Yngvar and his crew.

  Within the hour, the gates were battered. Yngvar and his men were told to fill any breach, so he stood idly while Lopt's archers threw stones down on the besiegers. When that failed, the Danes brought ladders and failed to scale the walls. The fort was on a steep, man-made hill, and so the ladders had little ground for purchase and were easily shoved away.

  This process continued for days, where a new gate was attempted and more debris was hurled down on the besiegers. Some men did scale the wall and were taken captive. Yngvar again was not privy to them, being held outside of Lopt's confidence. All the while, Gyna or her friends watched Yngvar's every move. He could no more open the gates than he could fly out of the fort.

  With each day that passed, Yngvar's blood pounded as hard as the ram on the gates. If the besiegers entered the fort before he figured a way to contact them, he would become a prisoner along with Lopt. More likely, he'd have his head cut off alongside Lopt's. About three days after the siege had started, ship masts began to appear over the folds of hills leading down to the sea. They were bringing in more men.

  "This is not going to end well," Thorfast said. They were huddled in their barracks at night. No one attended the main hall any more, unwilling to be treated as suspicious outsiders. The room was lit by candles and a low hearth fire. Yngvar sat close to the flames and felt the heat tightening the skin on the left side of his face.

  "Gyna really hurt us," Yngvar said. "I had expected to open the gates to them and grant them this fort."

  Thorfast lowered his head and turned aside.

  "Damn bitch is always watching us. I wish she'd die," Bjorn said, getting grunts of agreement from the others.

  Nearly thirty men were lined up with their weapons and shields in easy reach. It seemed so foolish that one small girl could keep them all hostage.

  "Wait," Yngvar said, a plan coming together in his mind. "She's keeping us hostage?"

  "In a word, yes," Thorfast said. "She's there at every turn."

  Yngvar hopped up and began pacing. "Alasdair, can you get back outside to send a message to the leaders of the siege?"

  Alasdair's clear, innocent face stared at his. He nodded cautiously, and Yngvar clapped his hands.

  "I've been so damn blind. Why did I not see this before?" The others stood as well, his crew drawing closer as he continued to pace. "Alasdair, you get word to the leaders of the siege that Einar Magnusson is inside the fort and that he will present Lopt Stone-Eye's warriors to them by tomorrow morning. We will sound our horn. Three notes, two short then one long. That will signal Lopt's surrender and the opening of the gate. Have them answer with the same notes if they agree to our terms."

  "Terms, lord?" Alasdair along with all the others were staring at him.

  "Yes, that all of us be guaranteed our safety and the return of our ship, and that we be presented to Gorm the Old so that we may serve him directly."

  He smiled across his gathered crew, and the men were alive with excitement now. Only Thorfast sat with arms folded and br
ow cocked.

  "And how does all this happen?"

  "The bitch," Yngvar whispered. "We take her hostage. She's herding us like sheep. By Freya's tits, man! We've got sword and shield against her--what?--her bad mood? We bargain with Lopt. Her life for his surrender."

  "He'll not do it," Thorfast said, turning his head aside.

  "He will," Yngvar said, kneeling beside his friend. "You see how much he adores her. No matter what he thinks, he must know none of us will leave here alive. There's no relieving force to break a siege. Waldhar may come, but he will find a strong enemy. You know his men hardly had the belly for the easy fight. They're not coming to Lopt's aid now. Nor does he have a way to summon them. But if we can get his pretty daughter away, then she at least will live."

  The quiet room danced with flickering shadow as eager eyes looked to one another. At last Thorfast slumped and nodded. "What other chance do we have?"

  "So let's get the bitch to follow us," Yngvar said. "Alasdair, dear friend, do I dare ask you once again to save my life? I already owe you too much."

  Alasdair blushed, obvious even in the low light. "I can convince them, if they will hear me. I will not let them see me until I am close to their jarls."

  Yngvar hugged Alasdair close. "I will put gold armbands on you yet. Now, go about this as if you are sneaking. Gyna will soon follow as she always does. Make it seem you are really trying to remain unseen."

  After outfitting Alasdair with a long knife and as much silver as they could spare for bribes, they sent him out. Yngvar watched from a crack in the door. Alasdair was hard to see when he wanted to be, and even now that he was trying to be obvious he was hard to spot. Yngvar waited until he saw a brown-cloaked man follow and a smaller, slender woman tagging behind him.

  "The fish are hooked," he said. "Now let's follow. Bjorn and Grettir, come with me. Thorfast, you remain here. Sound a horn if you are in danger. We'll have Gyna for a ransom soon."

  Yngvar swooped into the night, following after his prey. He relished the thought of Gyna's horrified expression when she was caught. He darted building to building, shadow to shadow, until they arrived at the section of wall where a hole had been dug. He barred Bjorn and Grettir with an extended arm. "There they are. She's spying on Alasdair. When I give the sign, Bjorn, you take the guard. Kill without a sound. Grettir, you and I will take the girl."