“Astrid…”
She looked down to see it was Dane, awake now, the wound in his side no longer there at all. She knelt beside him as he opened his eyes in confusion. “Did I…die?”
Astrid tearfully hugged him and whispered, “No, Dane, you didn’t…. You’re very much alive.” And the joy of it brought tears.
31
HALFWAY TO COURAGEOUS
Feeling the icy wind in his face, William listened to the fevered discussion as to how exactly they might go about rescuing Dane, Geldrun, Astrid, and Kára without attracting Jörmungandr. Through the mist, they could see five men aboard the ship, which meant Godrek had taken the prisoners and the rest of his men ashore. A small launch was beached there on an ice bar. And though the odds were definitely in their favor—their seven against Godrek’s five—Jarl said a frontal assault was suicide. Because the sides of the larger ship were much higher than their craft, climbing aboard her would be near impossible. And if they were spotted, they’d be under deadly arrow fire from above.
William piped up. “What if we had two boats? One to attack and one to go ashore for the rescue.” Jarl told the boy to shut up, because they plainly didn’t have two boats. “But we do,” said William. “Look.” He pointed to a small ice floe that had floated between their boat and Godrek’s. “From there I can shoot arrows at them while you slip through the mist to the far side of the isle and get ashore.”
It was an audacious plan and, although perilous, probably their best chance. The growler floated maybe fifty paces from Godrek’s ship, well within William’s range. Although Lut was hesitant to subject the boy to such danger, he saw that the growler was so small, anyone else set upon the berg risked capsizing it.
Fortunately there was the brazier and pot of pitch aboard ship, and so Lut started a fire with his fire-steel. Quietly the boat was rowed alongside the iceberg, and William, his bow slung over his shoulder with a quiver of arrows, was deposited upon it along with the brazier and pitch pot. The ice floe, a mere four paces across, dipped in the water as he stepped upon it, and William had to quickly center himself on it so as not to flip it over. “Good luck, my lad,” Lut whispered. “May your aim be true.”
Watching the boat disappear into the briny mist, William felt his stomach tighten and he fought the urge to cry, “Come back!” But then he remembered what Dane oft told him: Courage, he had said, wasn’t the lack of fear; it was acting despite one’s fear. Well, if that was true, he was halfway to courageous. He was floating alone on a tiny cake of ice in the dark seas of a merciless man-eating monster; he had the fear part covered. Now the hard part—forcing himself to act.
But he had to wait. He could not shoot before he gave his friends enough time to row the boat to the other side of the isle, so when Godrek and his men ran to save their ship, his cohorts would have opportunity to find Dane and the others.
The pitch now bubbling atop the brazier fire, he dipped an arrow-point into the pot, tarring its tip with a thick dollop of the flammable stuff, raising it up again and watching it quickly dry in the chill wind. Soon he would dip the iron tip into the brazier fire and set it aflame, but only right before he was ready to shoot.
He heard the sound of rippling water. An enormous fin broke the surface of the water twenty paces to his left. Another fin rose. Then six more, all in one continuous line and moving straight for him. And in a flash William realized these were not fins but hornlike spikes. Jörmungandr! One by one the angular spikes dove beneath his fragile little ice floe and disappeared. He felt a jarring bump—the creature had dealt the underside a glancing blow—that made his berg begin to drift away from Godrek’s ship! His horror at having seen the monster was eclipsed only by the sudden realization that he had to shoot his arrows before drifting out of range. But it was too soon! His friends hadn’t reached the other side of the isle yet. It was now or never, he thought. Act, William, act! He thrust his arrowhead into the brazier fire, allowing the tip to take flame. Pulling the arrow back in his bow, the bowstring drawn taut, he took aim and let fly his fire arrow at the largest target—the sail of Godrek’s ship.
Godrek gazed at the glittering mountain of gold, staggered by the enormity of the treasure piled before him. Hundreds—nay, thousands—of solid gold arm rings lay heaped atop each other inside the immense cavern. Oh, glory! Bending down, he saw that each gleaming ring was identical to the others—replicas of the serpent Jörmungandr swallowing its tail—and large enough to fit round a grown man’s upper arm. Marveling at the wonder of it all, another thought occurred, and he lifted his gaze. There atop the summit of this impossible hoard was Draupnir itself, the magical mother ring that had spawned them all. For centuries it had been in this place, and every ninth day Draupnir had dripped eight identical rings, miniature duplicates of the massive mother ring.
Drawn upward, Godrek scrambled up the mountain of gold. He cared not that each step he took landed him upon enough rings to make him wealthy for a lifetime. Mad with greed, he lusted after the godly source of it all.
He reached the peak. Above him hung Draupnir itself, suspended from the cavern ceiling by two thick iron rods fastened to opposite sides of the ring. Now so near to it, Godrek gasped, seeing the size of the ring—large enough perhaps to fit round a horse’s belly! And then before his eyes, the magic of Draupnir revealed itself. From out of the serpent’s mouth dripped a stream of pure liquid gold, the golden stream squirming like a snake, as if alive, and just as quickly curling back onto itself, forming a circle and dropping down onto the mountain of rings below. Moments later the ring hardened into the very image of Jörmungandr, identical to the multitude of golden rings it now lay upon.
But he barely noticed the mountain of gold beneath him. Raising the rune sword, he began hacking at the iron bands to free Draupnir. The ancient iron chipped away, but not fast enough for Godrek. Shooting a look down at his men, he saw they had roused themselves and were eagerly scooping up rings, slipping them over their arms until each arm was covered with the glittering gold.
“Up here!” Godrek barked. “We must free Odin’s ring!”
The men looked perplexed. “But my lord, we have all this,” one man said, gesturing to the mountain. “That is only one ring.”
“It’s the one I want most of all!”
As he ran in with urgent news for Lord Godrek, Ragnar stopped cold at the sight of it. A mountain of golden rings gleaming in the torchlight. At the very top of the heap he spied Godrek and the men madly cutting away at something—and as Godrek shrieked in joy, down it came, an ever-larger ring rolling right for him, a huge serpentine circle of gold as big and round as a wagon wheel careening toward him. Ragnar spun aside, and the giant ring smashed into the cavern wall and fell to the ground with a resounding otherworldly clang.
For a moment Ragnar could scarce believe his eyes. Draupnir!
Godrek came scrambling down the vast hoard of rings to where Draupnir had come to rest, quickly inspecting the sacred ring to find that, remarkably, its gleaming surface was unscathed.
“The ship, my lord—” Ragnar said, eager to deliver his news. “It’s on fire!”
Godrek swung his head round to face Ragnar now. “Fire! How?”
“We’re under attack, m’lord! Flaming arrows. We’re trying to douse it, but—”
Alarmed, his men immediately started out, but Godrek ordered them to stop. “The ring! We must get the ring to the ship.”
Ragnar exchanged urgent looks with the others. “My lord,” he said, “we can come back for it. If we lose our ship, we’ll die here. All this gold will be worthless in Valhalla!” For an anxious moment, Godrek stood there looking at Draupnir, then at the panicked faces of his men. Somehow the need to save the ship penetrated his irrational fog of greed, and he hurried off with them.
Each time William shot a flaming arrow, he knew he was giving away his position. He would hear shouts of “There!” from the men aboard Godrek’s ship, and in an instant the hiss of their arrows flying back
would fill the air. After each volley he hugged the ice, making himself as small a target as possible. The hail of arrows fell short and went over his head, and some stung the berg itself, nearly hitting him. These he dipped into the pitch, lit, and fired back. How many arrows had he sent? Fifteen? Twenty? He wasn’t sure. After a time he was aware his growler had drifted even farther from Godrek’s ship; too far for his arrows to reach it or for the return arrows to reach him. Through swirls of mist he saw the dim glow of the ship on fire and heard the echoing shouts of the men, and then even those sights and sounds vanished into the night.
Now I’m alone, he thought. But I’ve done my job. I’ve shown courage. And even if his act of bravery would prove to be his last, at least he had tried to rescue his friends. He sat on his tiny bread crust of an iceberg, drifting into the misty oblivion, going farther and farther away from all who knew and loved him. He was surprised at how peaceful he felt.
And then the dim outline of a new shape appeared, looming before him. Drifting closer, he saw the object was enormous, with soaring white spires towering as high as the walls of a castle. And it was not until the last instant before impact that he realized it was as if his little berg were reuniting with its mother.
32
THE ETERNAL HUNGER OF JÖRMUNGANDR
Ragnar the Ripper knew this was his best chance to escape his liege lord forever. He would sail away with those who had come to rescue the captives. And he would take with him treasure that would make him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams—rich enough to buy a small country in some faraway corner of the world, where he could while away his remaining days reading books and writing epic poetry.
But he had to act fast.
After delivering the news of their ship being on fire, he had hurried out of the cave with Godrek and the other liegemen, making for the launch boat. Just before they piled into the boat, Ragnar lagged behind and hid behind a boulder. The men were in such a hurry to return to the burning ship, Ragnar’s absence wasn’t noticed. As the men rowed away, he took off running back toward the cave entrance.
When Dane heard that Godrek’s ship was under attack, his hopes had brightened—it had to be Jarl and his friends to the rescue! But the man left behind to guard them—a hatchet-faced cutthroat named Smek the Gaunt—forced them all facedown on the cold stone floor, retying their hands behind their backs and binding their ankles together so they could not run off.
“It’s over,” taunted Smek, his face close to Dane’s. His breath smelled like rancid milk, and Dane saw most of his teeth were rotted stumps. “You’ll be in the belly of the serpent before your friends ever find you. Now stay here while I take a gander at what’s beyond that door.”
Smek disappeared though the great iron door. Immediately, Dane and the others worked feverishly to loosen their bonds. “Gah!” Dane spat. “I’d rather be eaten by Jörmungandr than smell his breath again.”
He heard a sound. Ragnar was standing before them. He held a knife in his hand, and Dane wasn’t sure if he was here to save them or slice their throats.
“Ragnar—at last!” Geldrun gasped. “Free us!”
“On one condition,” he said.
A long moment passed and Kára blurted, “You want us to guess? We don’t have all day!”
“Odin’s ring is just beyond that door. I’m taking it with us.”
“Fine!” agreed Kára. “A tiny ring. Now cut our bonds—me first.”
Ragnar quickly cut through the ropes, and they were free. He told Geldrun, Astrid, and Kára to wait there and signaled Dane to follow him. They crept to the iron door. Ragnar turned to Dane and whispered, “Don’t make a sound.” Dane nodded and followed Ragnar through the door.
The instant Dane beheld the mountain of gold, he gave a loud gasp. Smek, halfway up the mountain’s slope, turned and saw them. Ragnar shot Dane a pained look.
“Sorry,” Dane said.
“Ragnar, what are you doing there?” asked Smek.
“I’m taking Odin’s ring and locking you inside,” replied Ragnar.
Smek let out a bellow and took off down the mountain toward them, falling, cartwheeling as if he were on a snow-clad slope.
Ragnar pointed to Draupnir, which lay close by the door. “Hurry!” he said to Dane. “Help me with this!”
It was incredibly heavy. Dane and Ragnar righted it and rolled it out the door. Dane looked back and saw Smek was almost upon them. Ragnar put both hands on the ancient iron door and pushed with all his might. It closed with a deep kuh-lunnngg! just before Smek slammed into the other side. Locked in with a mountain of gold, Smek let fly curses that were but faint, faraway murmurings.
Dane turned. The women stared in disbelief at the enormous piece of godly jewelry standing on its side before them. “Glad we’re not bringing the matching earrings,” Kára said.
The women emerged from the crack in the spire, followed by Dane and Ragnar, rolling the cumbersome ring between them. They could see that the fire on the ship had almost been extinguished, but the sail was gone. Godrek too could be spied through the mist, standing on the bow, shouting orders. Although Dane felt a strong urge for revenge, he knew this was not the time for it.
“Pssst! Over here!” Dane turned to see Drott, Fulnir, and Jarl peeking out from the cover of a boulder, and behind them were Rik and Vik. Kára rushed into Jarl’s embrace, and Dane, Astrid, and Geldrun were equally overjoyed to see their friends.
“Glad to see me, huh?” Jarl said to the princess in his arms.
Kára instantly turned aloof again. “I’d be glad to see a one-eyed ogre,” she said, turning away, “if he were here to save me.”
Jarl shot a wary look at Ragnar.
“He’s the one who freed us,” Dane explained. “He’s no longer Whitecloak’s. He’s with us now.” Everyone’s eyes went to the giant gold ring, and Ragnar quickly disabused them of any thoughts it was community property. “This is mine, and I kill anyone who thinks it isn’t.”
“I think that’s fair,” Drott said.
Suddenly a sharp cry was heard from Godrek’s ship. They’d been spotted.
“Quick! To the boat!” Fulnir said. They hurried off, Dane and Ragnar lagging behind, rolling the ring. Glancing back, Dane saw Godrek and his men were already into the launch craft, furiously rowing to shore.
“The ring is slowing us down!” Dane shouted.
“Keep rolling!” Ragnar barked.
Lut had never beheld a happier sight. There they were—Geldrun, Astrid, and Kára—all alive and emerging from the mist, running toward the boat with Jarl and the others. His heart leaped. But he realized Dane was not among them. Moments later he made out two dim figures who seemed to be struggling with an object of some kind. They were arguing and swearing at each other and Lut saw that one of them was Dane! The other…was that Ragnar? He saw the object they were rolling—a massive gold ring. By the gods! Could it be?
And then Lut saw that closing fast behind them were Godrek and his men.
The craft bobbed in the water next to a crumbling ice shelf. Astrid and the others hurried across the shelf without stopping and jumped into the moving ship. Kára balked, so Jarl picked her up and unceremoniously threw her at the boat just as it dipped—and she would’ve flown over it into the water if Ulf had not caught her.
Everyone looked back and saw that Godrek and his men were making up ground quickly behind Dane and Ragnar, who frantically rolled the ring as fast as they could.
“Leave the ring!” cried Geldrun.
“Not a chance!” Ragnar yelled back.
Just as they reached the ice shelf, the boat rose and the ring rolled right on board and fell over, narrowly missing Lut. Dane and Ragnar pushed the boat off and jumped in just as arrows hissed past. By the time the pursuers arrived at the ice shelf, the boat was a good distance from shore. More arrows came, but everyone in the craft ducked below the gunwale and no one was struck. Soon the arrows stopped, and peeking over the gunwale, Lut saw Godrek and his men now run
ning in the other direction toward their ship. He heard Jarl give a shout to the group, and soon the rowers sat and began to pull at the oars and Jarl, at the tiller, steered the boat north.
“Why north?” Dane asked. “Go south! Godrek’s ship has lost its sail—they’ll have to row. We’re smaller and faster, so we can outrun them.”
“I wondered how soon you’d start giving orders,” Jarl sneered. “This is my command.”
“You’re going the wrong way!”
“We cannot leave as yet,” Lut said, stepping between them. “Not without William.”
Now Dane noticed that, indeed, the boy was missing. He grabbed the front of Lut’s cloak, his voice rising in panic. “Where is he? What happened?” Lut told him how the boy was the one who’d set Godrek’s ship on fire as a diversion so they could get ashore.
“Why did you let him do that? He’s just a boy—”
“He’s proven more than a boy, son,” Lut replied gently. “He’s resourceful and brave, as the name you gave him attests.”
Their craft headed for the northern tip of the island, Jarl’s strategy being that Godrek, thinking their ship would flee southward, would naturally go south as well, and so by the time they circled the isle to reach William, Godrek would be gone. Lut agreed that this was a sound plan, and Jarl seemed pleased by this endorsement, rising to an even greater height as he stood at the rear and piloted the craft. Dane told Lut of their brush with Jörmungandr, and about the fabulous mountain of gold spawned by the ring now being jealously guarded by Ragnar.
Sword of Doom Page 27
