Kjartan tore his eyes from the broth and fixed them on Hrani. ‘My lad died in the ship battle against Jarl Harald,’ he said. ‘His mother . . . well, she wouldn’t speak to me after that. Blamed me. Said I should’ve kept the lad safe. But what does a woman know of it?’ His long drooping moustaches quivered, the only sign of the rage within. ‘What does she know of the blood chaos? When it is raining spears and arrows. When axes are everywhere, cutting flesh the way lightning tears the night sky.’
Hrani gave no answer.
Kjartan shrugged. ‘Gerutha would have nothing to do with me after that. I packed my sea chest and left.’
Still no apology from the man. Hrani sniffed the broth again, wondering if the good news which Kjartan had brought him made up for the offence he had given by leaving in the first place. A hirðman who knew Kjartan well had told Hrani that Kjartan had not wanted to swear the oath to him simply because he was Randver’s son, that Hrani would first have to prove himself worthy of the jarl torc. The turd.
Prove myself to this flighty prick? Hrani thought now, slurping the hot liquid from a spoon. ‘Salt,’ he said to the woman who was standing nearby waiting for the jarl’s verdict. ‘More salt and it will be ready.’ This got some enthusiastic rumbles from those of his hearthmen who were gathering in Örn-garð for food and ale, skald song and women. The door thumped open again and a gust licked into the hall far enough to get the hearth flames flapping like a loose sail. More men came in, rubbing their hands and skinning themselves of their furs and hats, the low hum of their voices filling the place.
‘But now you are back again,’ Hrani said, staring at Kjartan, ‘like a fox sneaking back to its den.’
‘Hardly sneaking, lord,’ Kjartan said, gesturing to the spot upon which he was standing. ‘I have travelled far to tell you what I know, when I could have stayed in Svealand earning silver for my sword-work.’
‘Still, you think you will make more silver because you can tell me where to find Haraldarson and his flea-bitten pack,’ Hrani said.
Kjartan said nothing, and nothing was not a denial.
‘Lord, it is possible that someone else will kill them before you get the chance. They are stuck in that borg and this Jarl Guthrum will have his whole war host, what’s left of it, surrounding the place by now.’
‘And Alrik, what sort of a man is he?’
‘He can fight. But he’s too careful.’
‘Well, that could be a good thing for us,’ Hrani said to himself. Gods help this Alrik to hold that borg until he could get there, wherever there was. For Hrani wanted Sigurd dead but by his own sword, not some Svearman’s as Jarl Guthrum’s men flooded into the fort in a wave of steel and butchery.
‘I’ll take you to him, lord,’ Kjartan said. ‘Now if you want.’
He would as well, Hrani thought, with the cold still in his fingers, the filth of the journey on his clothes and the hunger griping in his belly.
‘You will swear to me first,’ Hrani said. A statement and question both. Truth be told he knew there were still other men who needed convincing about his right to wear the silver ring at his neck.
‘I’ll swear,’ Kjartan said with a nod.
‘Eat then, Kjartan Auðunarson. You are welcome in my hall,’ Hrani said, proving that he was a generous man.
Kjartan nodded again and walked off to find a bench to sit at, and Hrani watched him go. Watched him sit and demand ale from a thrall, huffing warm air into his cupped hands. And Hrani happened to recall that Kjartan was sitting in the place he had favoured when he had served Hrani’s father.
Let them eat well and drink well, he thought, and tomorrow we will load War-Rider with all that we will need for a long sailing.
The ship itself was ready, for he always kept her scrubbed and coated in resin and painted, even in winter when other jarls had their ships hauled up in their nausts waiting for spring. Perhaps some of the strakes could use some new caulking. And the ballast would need reorganizing once the cargo sank her a little deeper in the water. But he’d had the women make him a new sail with leather and hide criss-crossing the wool to help it keep its shape, and this sail sat neatly rolled by the wall behind his high seat, ready to be carried down to the wharf. He had enough wind-dried cod to last till Ragnarök, enough ale to put Thór himself under the table drunk, plenty of good rope, and at least half the oars were almost new, still pale and spruce-scented. So it would not take long. He would pack his ship with his best men, his hearthmen. His Sword-Norse. They would raise the new sail, which would stink of the tallow which was its proof against sea spray and rain. And they would go to Svealand to kill Sigurd Haraldarson and his friends.
GLOSSARY OF NORSE TERMS
the Alder Man: a spirit or elf of the forest
Asgard: home of the gods
aurar: ounces, usually of silver (singular: eyrir)
berserker: ‘bare-shirt’, or perhaps ‘bear-shirt’, a fierce warrior prone to a battle frenzy
bietas: a long pole used to stretch the weather leech when the ship is working to windward
Bifröst: the rainbow-bridge connecting the worlds of gods and men
Bilskírnir: ‘Lightning-crack’, Thór’s hall
blood-eagle: a method of torture and execution, perhaps as a rite of human sacrifice to Óðin
bóndi: ‘head of the household’, taken to mean a farmer or land owner
brynja: a coat of mail (plural: brynjur)
bukkehorn: a musical instrument made from the horn of a ram or goat
draugr: the animated corpse that comes forth from its grave mound
dróttin: the leader of a war band
færing: literally meaning ‘four-oaring’. A small open boat with two pairs of oars and sometimes also a sail.
Fáfnir: ‘Embracer’, a dragon that guards a great treasure hoard
Fenrir Wolf: the mighty wolf that will be freed at Ragnarök and swallow Óðin
Fimbulvetr: ‘Terrible Winter’, heralding the beginning of Ragnarök
forskarlar: the waterfall spirits
galdr: a chant or spell, usually recited rather than sung
Garm: the greatest of dogs, who will howl at the final cataclysm of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn: the horn which Heimdall sounds to mark the beginning of Ragnarök
Gleipnir: the fetter which binds the wolf Fenrir
godi: an office denoting social and sacral prominence; a chieftain and/or priest
Gungnir: the mighty rune-carved spear owned by Óðin
hacksilver: the cut-up pieces of silver coins, arm rings, and jewellery
Hangaguð: the Hanged God. A name for Óðin.
haugbui: a living corpse. A mound dweller, the dead body living on within its tomb.
haugr: a burial mound
Haust Blót: autumn sacrifice
hei: ‘hello’
Helheim: a place far to the north where the evil dead dwell
hersir: a warlord who owes allegiance to a jarl or king
Hildisvíni: the ‘battle boar’ on which Freyja rides
hirðmen: the retinue of warriors that follow a king, jarl or chieftain
hólmgang: a duel to settle disputes
hrafnasueltir: raven-starver (coward)
Hugin and Munin: ‘Thought’ and ‘Memory’, Óðin’s ravens
huglausi: a coward
húskarlar: household warriors
jarl: title of the most prominent men below the kings
Jól feast: winter solstice festival
Jörmungand/Midgard Serpent: the serpent that encircles the world grasping its own tail. When it lets go the world will end.
Jötunheim: (giant-home) the realm of the giants
karl: a freeman; a landowner
karvi: a ship usually equipped with 13 to 16 pairs of oars
kaupang: marketplace
knörr: a cargo ship; wider, deeper and shorter than a longship
kyrtill: a long tunic or gown
lendermen: managers of the
king’s estates. Nobles.
merkismaðr: standard-bearer in a war band
meyla: a little girl
Midgard: the place where men live (the world)
Mímir’s Well: the well of wisdom at which Óðin sacrificed an eye in return for a drink
Mjöllnir: the magic hammer of Thór
mormor: mother’s mother
mundr: bride-price
naust: a boathouse, usually with one side against the sea and a ramp down to the water
nestbaggin: knapsack
Nídhögg: the serpent that gnaws at the root of Yggdrasil
Niflheim: the cold, dark, misty world of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hel
nithing: a wretch; a coward; a person without honour
Norns – Urd, Verdandi and Skuld: the three spinners who determine the fates of men
Ragnarök: doom of the gods
Ratatosk: the squirrel that conveys messages between the eagle at the top of Yggdrasil and Nídhögg at its roots
rauði: bog iron ore, related to rauðr meaning red
rôst: the distance travelled between two rest-stops, about a mile
Sæhrímnir: a boar that is cooked and consumed every night in Valhöll
scían: an Irish fighting long knife
scramasax: a large knife with a single-edged blade
seiðr: sorcery, magic, often associated with Óðin or Freyja
seiðr-kona: a seiðr-wife. A practitioner of witchcraft.
Sessrymnir: the dwelling place of the goddess Freyja
skál: ‘cheers!’
skald: a poet, often in the service of jarls or kings
Skíthblathnir: the magical ship of the god Frey
skjaldborg: shieldwall
skyr: a cultured dairy product with the consistency of strained yogurt
Sleipnir: the eight-legged grey horse of Óðin
snekke: a small longship used in warfare comprising at least twenty rowing benches
svinfylkja: ‘swine-array’, a wedge-shaped battle formation
tafl: a strategy board game played on a chequered or latticed board
taufr: witchcraft
thegn: retainer; a member of a king or jarl’s retinue
thrall: a serf or unfree servant
ting: assembly/meeting place where disputes are solved and political decisions made
utiseta: sitting out for wisdom. An ancient practice of divining knowledge
Valhöll: Óðin’s hall of the slain
Valknuter: a symbol comprising three entwined triangles representative of the afterlife and Oðin
Valkyries: choosers of the slain
Varðlokur: the repetitive, rhythmic, soothing chant to induce a trance-like state
völva: a shamanic seeress; a practitioner of magic divination and prophecy
wergild: ‘man-price’, the amount of compensation paid by a person committing an offence to the injured party or, in case of death, to his family
wyrd: fate or personal destiny
Yggdrasil: the tree of life
THE NORSE GODS
Æsir: the gods; often those gods associated with war, death and power
Baldr, the beautiful; son of Óðin
Frey, god of fertility, marriage, and growing things
Freyja, goddess of sex, love and magic
Frigg, wife of Óðin
Heimdall, the watchman of the gods
Hel, both the goddess of the underworld and the place of the dead, specifically those who perish of sickness or old age
Loki, the mischief-monger, Father of Lies
Njörd, Lord of the Sea and god of wind and flame
Óðin, the Allfather; lord of the Æsir, god of warriors and war, wisdom and poetry
Rán, Mother of the Waves
Skadi, a goddess associated with skiing, archery and the hunting of game. Mother of Freyja.
Thór, son of Óðin; slayer of giants and god of thunder
Týr, Lord of Battle
Váli, Óðin’s son, birthed for the sole purpose of killing Höðr as revenge for Höðr’s accidental murder of his half-brother Baldr
Vanir, fertility gods, including Njörd, Frey and Freyja, who live in Vanaheim
Vidar, god of vengeance who will survive Ragnarök and avenge his father Óðin by killing Fenrir
Völund, god of the forge and of experience
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Well here we are, up to our knees in Sigurd Haraldarson’s saga. And what a joy it is to write these books and to live for a while in our Norsemens’ world – a brutal and harsh world, yes, but one without smartphones and social media and reality TV and fitness trackers. And there’s something to be said for that, I think. It can be refreshing to get away for a while. To go raiding with a fellowship. To stand at the sternpost of a longship and live a life that would be frowned upon these days, to say the least. I want you to ‘feel’ these stories as much as read them. I want you to abandon your twenty-first-century life and revel in the freedom and the danger, the grimness and the uncertainty – and the weather! – of late eighth-century Scandinavia. I hope you can revel too in the ideas and beliefs of Sigurd and his crew – men and women guided by capricious gods and tied one to another by bonds of loyalty and dreams of a shining reputation.
If you are reading this note, the chances are you already do these things. You are part of the crew and I humbly thank you. I could not write the books without you. Nor could I live my ‘other lives’ if it weren’t for the host of professionals and friends who help get the stories out of my head and into your hands. Chief amongst these are Bill Hamilton, my agent, and Simon Taylor, my editor at Transworld. Thank you both for your insight, guidance and comradeship on these long journeys. To my little Vikings, Freyja and Aksel, thank you for distracting me from my work. Everything is for you, my dearest hearts. Even if you’re not allowed to read these books till you’re older. Much, much older. And to my wife, Sally, thank you for always helping when I need it (which is all the time) and for understanding the working weekends, the obsessions and the general chaos of the creative mind. Thanks also to Philip Stevens, my creative collaborator, for being the voice of the audiobooks for this series. I cannot wait to sit by the hearth fire and listen to your rendition of this saga, which is saying something given that I mostly know what happens.
But for now, far-wandering reader, hold on to your spear, because Sigurd and his wolves yet have the scent of prey in their noses. Vengeance must be had. Honour must be satisfied.
And we still have far to go, you and I.
Giles Kristian
January 2016
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Family history (he is half Norwegian) inspired Giles Kristian to write his first historical novels: the acclaimed and bestselling ‘Raven’ Viking trilogy – Blood Eye, Sons of Thunder and Óðin’s Wolves. For his next series, he drew on a long-held fascination with the English Civil War to chart the fortunes of a family divided by that brutal conflict in The Bleeding Land and Brothers’ Fury. Giles also co-wrote Wilbur Smith’s recent No.1 bestseller Golden Lion, but in his new novels – God of Vengeance (a Times Book of the Year) and now Winter’s Fire – he returns to the world of the Vikings to tell the story of Sigurd and his celebrated fictional fellowship. Giles Kristian lives in Leicestershire.
Also by Giles Kristian
The Raven Novels
Raven: Blood Eye
Sons of Thunder
Óðin’s Wolves
The Bleeding Land
The Bleeding Land
Brothers’ Fury
The Rise of Sigurd
God of Vengeance
For more information on Giles Kristian and his books, see his website at www.gileskristian.com
/GilesKristian
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Giles Kristian 2016
Map © Liané Payne 2016
Cover illustration by Bob Venables; all other images © Shutterstock
Design by Stephen Mulcahey/TW
Giles Kristian has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473510418
ISBNs 9780593074534 (cased)
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