Wolfsangel (39 page)
Authors: M. D. Lachlan
Vali swallowed. Now, he thought. Now!
‘Walk on, you girl,’ said Bragi.
‘Shhhhhh!’ said a voice from the darkness.
Now Vali did draw his knife.
A pale face loomed out of the shadow. It was a child - the slave boy the wolfman had released back in Haithabyr.
‘Please follow,’ he said.
‘Keep out of this, child,’ said Vali. Had he guessed what was on Vali’s mind and was seeking to protect the man who had freed him?
‘Scram,’ said Bragi. He had automatically picked up his sword when he left the hall and now he wafted it, still in its scabbard, at the boy to swat him away.
‘Veles will make you free.’
‘How?’
‘You will go by the wine road. Follow me.’
Vali thought for a moment and then abandoned his plan. If Veles had sent this boy then perhaps there was a better way out. The boy led them to the side of the king’s hall. There were the barrels, open at the top.
‘In,’ said the boy.
Feileg shook his head. ‘No.’
Bragi’s hand went to his sword. ‘We can just as quick kill you here,’ he said.
The wolfman’s eyes were blank.
‘Fine,’ said Vali. ‘Don’t get in, and stay here to face Hemming’s wrath.’
‘I am coming with you,’ said the wolfman, ‘but not in there.’
‘There’s no other way,’ said Vali.
There was a blast of laughter from the hall. Someone had opened the doors.
‘I won’t be captured again,’ said Feileg.
The boy spoke: ‘You freed me. I owe you a debt. This is not captivity but freedom. Please, get in,’ he said.
There were footsteps now, drunken horseplay, voices repeating things the skald had said and wild laughter.
The wolfman looked at the boy. He nodded and, in what seemed like a single movement, was inside a barrel. Vali got into another, but Bragi couldn’t lift himself in. From Veles’ boat, four men in tatty work clothes appeared. They tipped a barrel onto its side, and Bragi crawled in. Vali squeezed down as far as he could. He had just enough space to bend his knees, so his head came below the lip of the barrel.
‘Stay inside,’ said a voice, and then his barrel was tipped onto its side and rolled towards the sea. The end was open and Vali feared he would be seen, but the night was dark and everyone was drunk. The turning was nauseating though, and it was all he could do to stop himself from falling out.
At the water’s edge he felt his barrel lifted into the air and loaded onto a boat. Then a cloth was put over the top end of the barrel and it went dark. He kept still for a while, hearing the scrapings and crashes of the other barrels being loaded next to his. How were they going to get through the chain? Hemming would never allow it to be opened at night.
There was the sound of approaching shouts and many feet on the shore. The shouts became a chant: ‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’
‘Get back to your stingy master and come back here with a gift fit for a king!’ It was the skald, shouting from the shoreline.
‘The chain opens for no one!’ It was the voice of one of the men on the boat. ‘Wait till tomorrow. You can make do with ale until then.’
‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’
The skald spoke again: ‘Don’t try to get out of it, you serpents. They’ll open the chain soon enough if you tell them you’re off on an important mission from the king himself!’
‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’
‘Hey, Feggi, lower the chain!’ shouted a voice.
‘Chain down! Chain down! Chain down!’
‘Gladly, if the king says so!’ The voice of the chain guard was very close.
‘Hemming, Hemming, grant us wine! Hemming, Hemming, grant us wine!’
Vali felt himself shaking and cursed himself for his fear.
‘Lower the chain. Never let it be said that I don’t listen to the will of my people!’ It was Hemming’s voice. The king had been drinking by the sound of him. Vali almost laughed. From what he had seen of Hemming, he was a serious man who wouldn’t care to get too drunk. Sometimes, though, he would have to show his people he was one of them.
Vali heard the oars lift and the boat moved forward. There was the stiff clank of the lowering chain and the boat slid out into the main channel, the crowd cheering it on.
Vali regretted not killing the wolfman - it would have increased his chances of escape many times if Hemming had thought him dead. All he could hope was that Veles had come up with a better plan than he had managed himself.
The journey was a long and uncomfortable one. He tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the oars, to take his mind off the cramp in his legs. Then the boat stopped and the boy whispered to Vali to keep quiet. Other men got on and the boat began to move again. Vali guessed there had been a change of oarsmen.
He was in agony now but didn’t dare move to ease his legs. He tried to sleep but it was impossible. Eventually, when numbness had dulled the pain, he smelled the sea and saw light through the cloth draped over his barrel. The boat was still. He had to get out, he thought, or he wouldn’t ever be able to move again. As he shifted, he felt a hand push him back down.
‘Not long now,’ whispered a voice.
‘Veles?’
‘Your servant always, my lord.’
Despite his agony Vali gave thanks to Loki that Veles was on his side. The Obotrite was the cleverest man he had ever met.
His barrel was lifted again and Vali felt he was going to be sick. Then he was put down - on another ship, as far as he could tell. He heard the barrels being lashed down and realised he must now be on an ocean-going vessel preparing for the rigours of a sea voyage. Again, Veles’ voice was close by.
‘As soon as we are far from the shore you can come out. I apologise for your cramped accommodation, but be assured I had the barrels made specially for this purpose. They are commodious compared to normal vats. You will be free to stand soon.’
‘Thank you, Veles. You’ve taken great risks for me.’
‘Thanks are welcome, especially when princes speak with gold,’ said Veles.
‘What will you do if Hemming finds out it was you?’
‘I am the king’s most valuable servant, so I doubt he’ll suspect me,’ said Veles. ‘Rest assured the blame will all be yours. Now be quiet. We are still inshore and there are men close by.’
Vali heard the creak of a rope and the sound of the sail taking the wind, but no one spoke. For an age he waited. He could no longer feel his legs at all, apart from his knees, which had been rubbed to rawness against the sides of the barrel. He heard a tap.
‘Out,’ said a voice, and the cloth was pulled away.
Vali couldn’t move at all at first but eventually managed to push himself to his feet, bending to massage the blood back into his legs. Then he climbed out of his barrel, blinded by the sun.
‘Veles,’ said Vali, ‘even if I never walk properly again, I am forever in your debt. I—’
He felt a thump in his guts, so hard he puked. He fell to his side, his hands grasping for support, his head banging against one of the stays of the ship’s hull. His sight began to adjust to the sunlight and he heard a familiar voice.
‘The merchant sold you.’
He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, coughed and looked up. The warrior’s identity seemed to assemble in Vali’s mind from a collection of parts - the long deep scar running from the forehead to the lip, the massive body, bigger than any man he had ever seen, the tattoos covering every inch of his flesh in scenes of battle and destruction, the pelt of the white bear draped over him.
‘Remember me, prince?’ said Bodvar Bjarki. ‘You said you wouldn’t forget.’
33 An Explanation
The journey north felt like a dream to Adisla. The midnight sun turned the sea to boiling blood as it dipped towards the horizon and when it rose again it cast crystal shards into a sky of fragile blue. Sea mists came and went, the coastal mountains looming and then fading away, massive but fleeting. The temperature dropped as they moved up the coast - not to freezing, though ice was visible on the mountaintops, but to a grey numbing cold.
There was no true darkness, no rest from the leering of the Danes. Only the strange foreigner with his filed teeth and his drum seemed to stand between her and them. She had no oar to row, no sail to work and, huddling terrified at the prow of the ship, she was frozen. The man with the drum tried to help, but his attempts to hold her were unpleasant. He was ugly, frightening and stank of fish, though there was no lust in what he did. He just put his arms around her and squeezed.
She shrugged him off.
‘It is normal,’ he said. ‘Be cold then.’
He brought her food - fish from the ship’s pot, boiled reindeer, hunted and cooked when they stopped to camp. He was a dead shot with his little bow - a curious squashed-looking thing. The reindeer he brought back to the boat had just one arrow in it, embedded behind its ear. There had been no stressful wounded chase for the creature and the meat was tender and lovely.
It was the foreigner who slept next to her in an improvised tent on the beaches, keeping her from sleep as he watched her with those strange blue eyes, but keeping her from harm too with the broad knife he kept at his belt.
Soon the midnight sun turned from the side of the ships to behind them. They moved among islands that seemed no more than mountains rising from the water, past immense bays and wide silver beaches where sea eagles wheeled against brilliant skies. Great pine forests stretched up huge slopes, and where the mountains parted there were glimpses of vast green plains.
The ends of the earth were supposed to be this way, and as the fogs swept over the boat she wondered if this was the road to Nifhelm, the misty hell she had learned about at her mother’s knee. The lands of men were called Middle Earth for good reason. There were other areas, realms of gods and giants beyond their own, and mortals had no place there. Was that where the longship was going?
Haarik came and sat next to her. He hadn’t spoken to her for the whole voyage but now he was bored. The ship was under sail in an easy wind, most of the crew were sleeping and he had nothing to do. He held her face by her chin and turned it towards his. Then he glanced towards his men. None was paying them any attention. He let her go.
‘I miss my wife,’ he said. Normally Adisla would have found his thick accent and mangled words funny. At Eikund they’d been visited by an entertainer who did a very good impression of Danes, and Haarik reminded her of him with his sing-song Norse. Now she just found him grotesque.
‘You should bring your bodyguard. You won’t take me without a fight and you are old and frail.’
The king laughed.
‘To talk to,’ he said. ‘I need to talk. The company of warriors is a glorious thing but men need softer speech too, don’t they? Well, I do. Do you know why you’re here?’
‘I took it that you meant to sell me.’
‘You’re already sold, in a manner of speaking,’ he said, ‘or rather exchanged, though it seems to me an uneven bargain.’
Adisla looked at him. Haarik wasn’t a coarse or unpleasant man; in fact, there was something quite fatherly about him - not her father but the father she wished she’d had. She hated him, though. He - or his men - had killed her brother, stolen her from her homeland and sentenced her mother to death. Still, she wanted to discover her fate so decided to be as civil as she could, which meant she said nothing.
‘You’re to be swapped for my son,’ he said, ‘although I wonder why I’m bothering. Perhaps I should have appointed you my heir. Are you any good as a sea captain? Can you wield a sword?’
‘Not among my talents,’ said Adisla.
‘You can’t be any worse than him. He was sent on a raid to the Islands at the World’s Edge. He ended up here. That really does take a special sort of stupidity. I say go west; he finishes up just about as far east as it’s possible to go.’
‘He was captured?’
‘Yes, and by people who couldn’t catch a cold. The Whale People have got him - can you believe that? Nothing more than a sharpened reindeer antler between the lot of them and they’ve taken him hostage. He was shipwrecked on his way up the coast north. Went too far up, got caught in the wrong current. One of two survivors apparently, one of whom - biggest berserker I’ve ever seen - shows up at my court with my boy’s sword and this whale wizard. I ask this berserker, Bodvar Bjarki, what a disciple of Odin of the white bear is doing getting captured by a bunch of icicle farmers and he murmurs something about sorcery. Says they heard a rumour of sorcerers’ gold and went chasing it, which in itself beggars belief.’
‘You look for him yourself?’ said Adisla. ‘Have you no champions to do it for you?’
Haarik laughed. ‘I’m an old-fashioned king, not one of this new breed more at home with the inky priests of new gods than a sword. My problem, my solution. And besides I’m afraid of what the boy might say to anybody who rescues him. He could disgrace himself further.’
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