Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  Alasdair found them, and Yngvar embraced his friend. "I'm only standing here with my head attached because of you. You are amazing, Alasdair."

  The young man blushed, copper hair shining in the morning sun. Bjorn grabbed him next, rubbing his knuckles into Alasdair's head.

  "Don't get too cocky, boy. You're useful at times."

  Everyone took their turn welcoming and thanking Alasdair, who insisted his sole talent was being small and he was unworthy of the praise. Such humility was refreshing and admirable, and Yngvar smiled after his young friend.

  As the morning progressed, Yngvar and his crew were forgotten while Frothi and other leaders worked out their plans. If any murder was being done behind the walls, no sounds came. The Saxons were dying without protest or fear, true warriors to the end. It made Yngvar's breath catch, and he walked deeper into the camp to escape the thought of it. His wolves, Thorfast, Bjorn, and Alasdair, accompanied him as he led the way into the late morning.

  "Looks like we'll get to Jelling after all," Thorfast said. "And the name Einar Magnusson is still good. So no worries for Erik's bounty on that other person. What was his name?"

  Everyone laughed, including Yngvar. He scratched his head as if trying to recall. "I can't quite remember the name."

  "Yngvar!"

  The voice was distant, and it shocked Yngvar to hear it. He froze in his steps, fearing he would hear it again.

  "By all the gods! Yngvar Hakonsson! Bjorn Arensson!"

  The voice was closer now, accompanied by heavy footfalls on the hard earth. Yngvar turned toward the voice.

  And looked into the face of a ghost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "Wait!"

  Yngvar blinked, staring at the man running toward him. He was like any other of the Danes gathered here, but his accent was radiantly clear. He wore mail and carried a shield on his back, but it did not burden his stride. A long, silky beard streaked with gray flowed from his chin. The man's heavy brow was furrowed in his determination to reach them, strong hands outstretched as if Yngvar were a phantom that might escape his grip.

  But the man was the phantom.

  Here, in a lonely field in Denmark and in the shadow of a defeated hill fort, stood Yngvar and Bjorn's cousin, Brandr Gunnarsson.

  Brandr stopped, throwing his arms wide and smiling. He shouted loud enough to be heard in Asgard. "Yngvar! Bjorn! Cousins! I can't believe it!"

  "Lord, who is this?" Alasdair asked in a frightened voice. Yngvar did not look down at him, stunned as he was to see Brandr returned from the sea grave. "He is revealing your true name, lord."

  Bjorn threw down his ax and slammed into Brandr's open arms as if they were meeting again after nothing more unusual than an extended hunting trip. He shouted back, "Cousin, you're alive!"

  They slapped each other's backs, laughing and rocking together. Yngvar, Thorfast, and Alasdair stood gaping at the unreal scene.

  "He was thrown overboard," Thorfast said. "I saw it myself."

  "Lord, is that man your cousin? The one who Bregthor was to have murdered?" Alasdair tugged at the hem of Yngvar's shirt, but he still could not remove his eyes from Brandr and Bjorn's joyous embracing. He simply nodded in reply.

  "By all the gods," Brandr said, his voice quavering with emotion. "I never thought to see anyone I knew again. But here you all are."

  Bjorn and Brandr pulled apart, and Bjorn thumped his eldest cousin on the shoulder. "You're looking dry for someone we thought was sharing Ran's bed at the bottom of the sea."

  "Ah, the rotten whore wouldn't have me," Brandr said, returning the thump to Bjorn's shoulder.

  At last Yngvar roused himself and approached his cousin. Brandr offered a teary-eyed smile and gathered him into a strong bear hug. He smelled of sweat and oiled mail, and the hard links of his armor bit into Yngvar's flesh.

  "It's like seeing Grandfather Ulfrik again, looking at you." He pulled back to get a closer look. Yngvar too studied Brandr. His hair had grayed since the prior year, and his face was more gaunt. But his eyes were alive with gleeful energy and his big hands gripped him tight by the shoulders. He gave an approving nod. "You've grown up. You're a true man now, a battle lord. The burdens of a leader are already marking your face. And it looks like a sword marked this cheek only recently."

  "Ah, there was some fighting," Yngvar said, absently touching the scab on his cheek. "Brandr, this is simply impossible for you to be here."

  "It is," he agreed, slapping Yngvar's back then pushing him aside to greet Thorfast. "But Fate rules all, and so the Three Sisters weave their strange threads. Now look at this snowflake. Thorfast!"

  "We're not related," he said, backing away. "And my guts are still only just holding together. Can we grip arms instead?"

  Brandr laughed, and it sounded like Yngvar's father. He had never noticed the similarity before, maybe because he had never been so long removed from it. That gusty, familiar laugh summoned memories: his parents, his love Kadlin, all of his friends, his favorite foods and places. All of it echoed in Brandr's laughter and brought an acute pain of loss. Would he be like Brandr, forever cut off from home and family?

  Brandr grabbed Thorfast's forearm and they shook. He still slapped Thorfast's shoulder. "But you are from Frankia. That's like family to me now, here in Denmark."

  As the happy glow waned, Yngvar finally realized they were still in Jarl Frothi's camp. Though distant, his warriors cast dull glances at them as they went about their business. Had they run into Brandr in the center of that camp, Yngvar's true name would've been blurted out for everyone to hear. Remembering how Sigvald even knew of his bounty, he could not afford to let anyone suspect him. As it was, he wanted to dye Thorfast's hair and grow Alasdair to a man's height. Their group alone was distinctive enough without being named.

  "So are we to just smile at each other and not ask the obvious question?" Thorfast said, scanning everyone. "Which is how by Loki's own luck did we all come to this place? Brandr, what are you doing with the Danes? You're supposed to be drowned."

  "But I'm not, am I?" Brandr said, still smiling. He gestured they all walk together. "Come back to my tent where we can sit and talk."

  "No," Yngvar said. His words carried authority as Brandr drew up short, his brow raised. "You'll soon understand why it's better to speak out here. You've heard of Einar Magnusson? Well, that's me and I need that to remain my name."

  Brandr's heavy brown drew together and his mouth shaped into a small circle, but he simply tilted his head in acquiescence. "Well, I'm sure there's a story to be told there. I'll tell you mine first since you all thought I was dead. I just thought you had all returned to Frankia."

  "Then you are the lone man in this part of the world who has not heard of my bounty," Yngvar said.

  "I've heard some talk. I've no interest in bounties being that I can do nothing about it myself. I never even learned the names of the men being sought, and that's true for most of my companions. We're not free to sail off searching the world for a few men. How impossible is that task?"

  Bjorn grunted, "Well, if you remain with us, you'll see how often we're found."

  Again Brandr laughed like Yngvar's father, clapping his hands as he did. "Well, my story is at least as incredible as yours and maybe more so. Before I tell you how I came to be here, you must tell me if you know who threw me overboard. That night my arm was tired from both steering and battle. I leaned on the rails to rest myself and two hands grabbed my legs. Then I was plunged headlong into the sea."

  "It was Bregthor," Thorfast said. "I saw it myself, and Yngvar was awake when it happened."

  A familiar, dark scowl overcame Brandr's expression. Again Yngvar noted the familial similarities and knew when he was angered he looked much the same as Brandr did now. His eldest cousin spit. "Curse his name. Tell me he's dead."

  "Split his skull myself," Bjorn said.

  "My thanks for that," Brandr said. "So then you witnessed the treachery that spilled me into the sea. I can swim.
I learned it from my mother when I was a lad. Best thing I ever learned. I know why most don't bother. It takes much practice. But for any man who will make the sea his home, it's a valuable skill. Still, that night the water was cold and deep. I kept my head above the waves, but I was frantic and full of fear. My ship was already gone and my calls echoed to no one. As my legs grew as stiff and heavy as iron, I thought for sure I would sink to the sea grave. I prayed to Thor, Odin, Freya, Loki, any gods I could name. I begged Ran spare me her bed at the bottom of the sea. And it succeeded. The gods sent me driftwood. It hit me square in the face and split my nose. I did not see it in the dark, but I grabbed onto it like a dear lover."

  Brandr paused and gestured they should all sit in the grass. Yngvar lowered himself onto the cool earth, glad he was not adrift in the frigid waters Brandr described. His cousin continued.

  "With the dawn came despair. I was in a circle of gray water and barely had my head and shoulders over the old log and debris that kept me afloat. Maybe the gods toyed with me. Maybe they wanted sharks to rip me to bits. I thought of a hundred different ways that I might die. I tell you honestly I considered slipping from the log and letting Ran have me after all. It was only fear of losing my place on the benches of Valhalla that kept me hanging on. Then the ship came."

  "I thought it was our pursuing Norse enemies. I did not care. I called out like a madman and was never so glad as to see that black hull gliding up to me. Ropes were thrown down, but I was too weak. The men cajoled me, saying they'd leave if I wouldn't help myself. I could scarcely understand them, but I knew well enough from my own years upon the waves they would not waste time with a man close to death. So I grabbed the ropes and they hauled me aboard."

  Brandr paused, rubbing his hands together as if he were cold. He seemed to be looking into a distant memory, then began again. "I thought I would become a slave to the Danes who found me. But they took me back to their homes, healed me and clothed me. They had to send men to serve King Gorm's army in Jelling. They had few men to spare, but as repayment for my life I went to serve on their behalf. At least one of their sons could remain at home if I went. I thought I would hate serving a king. In truth, I only met King Gorm one day after I had sworn my loyalty. I serve as a hirdman now, and it is a good job with good pay. The king and his men are wise and strong."

  Yngvar's stomach burned at the words. But Brandr was family. He would choose family over a foreign king, would he not?

  "Why did you give up returning to Frankia?" Yngvar asked. "You had lands there from your father. People would follow you."

  "My life from now on is owed to those who saved me. I have a life debt, and so I am repaying it. My father's lands will go to your father. I'd hoped that then you would inherit all of it. I've no idea who would rule there now if not your father. The Franks might become emboldened enough to have captured the territory. My father's warriors kept the Franks off the borders, but with them all gone I cannot say what happened. No matter, I am sworn to King Gorm now. So, what of your story?"

  Yngvar shared a sad look with Thorfast. Bjorn was frowning into the grass. Brandr appeared oblivious to their mood, as he sat smiling in expectation. Yngvar shrugged and told their story from the day Brandr was discovered to have fallen overboard to the final deceit he had just enacted on Lopt Stone-Eye. Throughout, he did not detail King Hakon's mission, leaving it as general as counting ships and men. But as he spoke he detected a growing discomfort in Brandr. He shifted often on the grass and squinted at the horizon for a time.

  "And that is the whole story," Yngvar said. "It has left my throat dry. Maybe we can return to your tent if there is something to drink."

  Brandr seemed to cheer at the thought. "I'm sure we can find something. So, I must call you Einar Magnusson now? We cannot be related, eh?"

  Yngvar shook his head. "Given my bounty and that we are counting ships and troops for King Hakon, it is best none of us become too well known."

  "Well, I can imagine Erik Blood-Axe being mad about his leg. His wife is King Gorm's daughter, as you must know, and Gamle is his grandson."

  "Another reason we should remain unknown." Yngvar smiled and so did Brandr.

  But it was a conflicted smile. Brandr, it seemed, felt strongly about what he owed the Danes.

  And he might not choose family over a foreign king, after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Yngvar and all his men sailed with Brandr and a handful of Jarl Flosi's warriors to fill out his crew. They pulled away from the defeated fortress back into the sea, and Yngvar watched heads being replaced over the gates. Down came Sigvald's head and up went Lopt's. Though he could not see from the distance, he knew the head could be no other's. Crows flocked around the workers, anticipating fresh meat. A line of prisoners was dark against the horizon as they filed out of the fortress. It would seem Flosi preferred the Saxons either as slaves or hostages. No matter, seeing that line of hunched shadows trudging across the fields gave Yngvar a burn in his gut. They could betray him to King Gorm. Thorfast shared a flat look, evidently worried for the same reason. Then he spit over the rails into the foamy sea.

  "Nothing we can do for it now," Thorfast said before turning away.

  Brandr was glad to steer his old ship again, and it brought a smile to Yngvar's tired face. Hamar tried to appear amiable, but Yngvar saw his smile collapse when he believed no one watched. He was serviceable at the tiller, yet no man could handle this ship like Brandr. He enjoyed showing off to the other ships following them, racing ahead and weaving between them with grace Yngvar did not believe the ship could possess.

  "Grandfather called his ship Wave Spear," Brandr called over the rush of wind and water on the hull. "I never named this ship, but I believe it is Wave Spear's descendant. The hull pierces the water with ease."

  Yngvar had little time to consider the merits of the ship. He gathered his crew, at least those who could be spared from their duties. Pulled into a tight huddle, he spoke softly. They confirmed their story as disgruntled Norsemen sick of Christian rules and the change of kings. "You will mostly remain close to this ship and make it ready for a swift departure. I don't know what we will face in Jelling, but I suspect when the day to leave comes we will be under attack. Me and my wolves will do the spying. But I expect you to find out all you can about Gorm's men. Make friends with them. Lose dice games to them. Fill their mugs with beer. Do whatever you can to pry free their secrets. But be wise. If you cannot be discreet then don't attempt it. Let those better suited to these games do that work. The rest of you keep the ship prepared for a fast escape."

  With good weather and Brandr's skillful steering, they headed into the fjord that led to Jelling. Yngvar noted how this land was not so different from Norway. Though he had now spent a year in the north, he still marveled at the powerful beauty of the fjords and the rugged lands that spread out green and inviting beyond.

  This fjord was flatter and more open than the ones he had found in Norway. A haze still lingered over the cold water, obscuring the green shoulders on either side. Here was a land where Odin and Thor still walked and it showed in the mysterious veils of mist that shrouded these northern lands. In Frankia and other Christian kingdoms, the new god had made the world plain and weak. There was only rain and mud in those places. Perhaps King Hakon's love of Christianity would do the same to Norway. Yngvar hoped not.

  Watching their progress north, he also realized now how lost they had actually been during their journey from Norway. Just before entering this fjord, they had sailed through a strait on the opposite side of a large island. When sailing from Norway they had mistaken that large island for the actual coast of mainland Denmark. Hamar had been standing beside Yngvar and also studied the way. Now he frowned.

  "So I followed the wrong coast," he said. "And came nearly to Saxon lands. I steered too far from the shore to know what I was doing. Now I know the way, and I won't forget it."

  "Not that it does us any good today," Bjorn said. He had been sul
king for most the trip. Despite his joy at finding Brandr, his mood had turned foul. Yngvar stayed away. Sometimes it did no good to talk to Bjorn when he was moody.

  They landed and traveled inland along well-trod roads. Yngvar was struck with how little strength Gorm displayed at the entry to the seat of his power. Ships were moored here and a jumbled mass of dark-stained buildings suggested men guarded this landing at all times. However, there was none of the bustle and trade that Yngvar had encountered in Haugar, Norway. Woods were scattered along the coast, providing cover to enemies if they wished to sneak upon Gorm's defenses. Even the road inland had not been sufficiently cleared of trees. Either Gorm was never threatened here, or he was lax in his defenses.

  Jelling itself was much deeper inland than Yngvar expected. Timber walls spread in a wide ring around the town that sat upon a hill. Gorm's mead hall, as was true for every jarl, sat at the peak. Brandr's joy at steering his old ship once more faded with each step they took toward the hall. As the sun faded, so did Brandr's mood.

  Servants and guards both swarmed around the hall. A runner had of course preceded them and the hall doors were already opened with a half-dozen warriors standing expectantly outside. Their heavily accented speech was a jumble to Yngvar, but he understood the happy greetings shared by men who had traveled far in to danger. They slapped backs and embraced, shared words of encouragement or good-natured challenge, but their eyes cooled when settling on Yngvar and his crew. They collected weapons and had them wait outside the hall while everyone, including Brandr, entered the hall.

  "Do you think he'll say anything, lord?" Alasdair asked.

  "He's my cousin," Yngvar said. "Of course he would not endanger us."

  "Best if he acts as if he doesn't know us," Thorfast said. "It's the best way he can help."

  Bjorn grunted and folded his arms. The rest of the crew waited expectantly. Yngvar studied the surrounding village. It was laid out in quarter sections in neat squares of buildings. Smoke from dozens of homes streaked into the low light of the sky. Dogs barked and an occasional shout echoed off the high walls. An occasional flash of color from someone's clothing broke up the drab lines of paths between buildings. A typical village safe behind its walls, far from the sea. No army landing on the beach would ever take this place by surprise.