“I take no offense,” said Hakon as he wiped the rim of the cup with his fingers to remove the dust that was lingering there. “Anyway, I would have liked to have been there. Jarl Tore was a great man and deserved every ounce of praise and celebration.”
Eldgrim took his cup from Hilde and held it up. “To the memory of Tore. May he be celebrating with his shield-brothers in Valhall as we speak. Skol.”
Hakon ignored the reference to the hero's heaven of the Northmen and took a sip of his ale, which was strong but sour. He swallowed it with effort.
“Good, eh?” asked Eldgrim, meaning the ale.
Toralv grunted and raised his cup. Egil acted as if he had not heard, leaving Hakon to answer for them all. “It is strong.” Which was true, and about the only honest answer Hakon could give.
Eldgrim was about to respond when the door to Shadow Haven burst open and a young warrior stormed in with Knut by his side. They strode to the fire and bowed to their lord. The younger man's cheeks were ruddy and wind-chapped, his dark hair tangled. His watering eyes darted from Eldgrim to his guests. It was clear he had never met his king, though he did have the good sense to recognize the stature of the guests by their clothing, and so nodded his greeting to them before turning back to his lord.
“Begging your pardon, Lord Eldgrim. Another ship is coming into the bay.”
Eldgrim's right brow cocked. “A warship?”
“Aye.”
Eldgrim turned to Hakon. “Were you expecting anyone?” Suspicion laced Eldgrim's words, but Hakon ignored it. The older man was right to be cautious. Hakon would do the same.
Eldgrim's eyes moved back to his warrior. “It is a strange wind indeed that brings two warships in one day to our shores. Knut,” he said to the leader of his retinue, “go see what this ship wants, but leave the scouts on the bluffs in place. Let us make sure there are no others.”
“Toralv, go with Knut,” ordered Hakon. “If there is foul play, let us add our muscle to the shield wall. Get the men into their byrnies.” Hakon knew his champion, and knew well that things had been a little quiet for him lately.
As if in answer to that thought, Toralv set his ale aside and unfurled his huge frame from his seat. “Gladly,” he quipped as he joined Eldgrim's men and left the hall.
Egil made to rise too, but Hakon stayed him with a hand. “Not you. I want you here with me.”
Egil reclaimed his seat with a muffled curse. He might have been old, but he still relished the thrill of fighting, and preferred it far more to meaningless banter by a hearth fire.
“You mentioned your son. Have you not heard from him, Eldgrim?”
Hakon had exiled the young troublemaker, Olaf Eldgrimsson, from the North five summers before for the murder of another man. His exile had caused quite a stir in these parts, and had angered Eldgrim mightily. The mention of him now stopped Eldgrim in mid guzzle.
“I heard he joined your brother, Erik.” Eldgrim grinned as he let the words settle on Hakon. “That was several summers ago, before Erik fell.”
The news did not come as a surprise. Many disenfranchised young men had done the same, seeking fame in the ranks of exiled lords like Erik, where many of their friends and relations also fought. It was a story he had heard many times before, and so he kept his expression even as Eldgrim relayed the news to him.
The old lord shrugged. “I know not where he is now, or if he yet lives.”
“Do you think he could be fighting with Erik's sons now?”
The older man looked from Hakon to Egil, then back again, his eyes narrowing beneath his unruly brows. “And if he is?”
“Erik's sons have designs on my realm and are even now plying the waters of the Vik and the Eastern Sea, gaining fame and gathering men to them. If your son fights with them, that could complicate loyalties,” responded Hakon, keeping his tone mild. “I do not like complication where loyalties are concerned.”
Eldgrim's face soured at the implied threat. He had not the men to defend himself against the king, and Hakon knew it. Still, Hakon had little intention of fighting the man. He merely wanted Eldgrim to know that he was watching.
Hakon guzzled the remainder of his ale with effort, banged the cup on the nearby eating board, then rose to his feet. “Come. Let us turn our attention to other things. There is a ship approaching. Let us see what they want.”
The three men exited the dark hall and strode toward the beach, where Hakon's men had armored themselves and stood in a rough shield wall alongside Eldgrim's men. The wall blocked Hakon's view, though he could see the ship's sweeping prow above their heads. Hakon pushed his way through the warriors and stopped cold. For there, coming toward them, was his own ship, Sea Snake.
Toralv glanced at his king. “Egbert stands in the prow.”
Hakon could just make out the shock of red hair. His presence here twisted Hakon's stomach, for it could only mean ill tidings.
“Who is Egbert?” Eldgrim asked.
Hakon did not answer, but instead waited for Sea Snake to land and for the priest to leap to the shore. “What news?” he asked Egbert before the priest had even reached him.
Egbert dripped seawater from head to toe, and his skin bore the pale hue of seasickness. He smiled weakly and lifted his arms wide. “By the holy grace of God. It is truly a miracle that we have found you.” The silver cross that hung from his neck glinted in the pale afternoon light.
“A Christian priest?” Eldgrim blustered. “What is this?”
“What news?” Hakon asked again, louder this time. He was in no mood to hear of miracles or placate men who had no space in their small thoughts for other deities.
Egbert's arms dropped to his side, and his face turned serious. His eyes scanned the expectant faces in the shield wall. It was clear he did not want to speak his words before so many.
Hakon cared little for such formalities — the men would know soon enough. “Out with it, Egbert,” he barked a bit too angrily.
“The news is dire, my lord. Erik's sons are on the move. Their army came from the land of the Danes and attacked the Vik.” The helmsman of Sea Snake, Eskil, and some of the crew came up from the ship to join Egbert as he delivered his message. “By the time we heard of it,” Egbert continued, “the army was heading west around Agder.”
Hakon cursed. He had suspected that something like this might happen. He had felt it in his gut. And now it had come to pass, and he was powerless to do much about it. From Agder, Erik's son could reach Avaldsnes in two days' sail on a good wind, which meant they were probably already there. It would take Hakon a hard five or six days more just to reach Avaldsnes, longer if the northward wind persisted. By the time he reached Avaldsnes, there might be nothing to return to.
“You are well met, lord,” called Eskil. He was a tall, thin man who had spent much of his life at sea, and it showed in the deep creases of his leathery skin.
“How large is the army, Eskil?”
The lines of Eskil's face seemed to deepen. “We have heard varying reports, lord. Anywhere from ten to fifteen ships.”
Which was not a massive fleet, but it was large enough to ravage the area. And Avaldsnes. “What of Gyda and Thora?”
Eskil shook his head and the deep lines on his face deepened even more. “I know not, lord. Ottar sent us to find you as soon as we heard the news. He wished me to bring Egbert. I did not ask why.”
“Did he alert the other lords in the area?” This question came from Egil.
“Aye. He sent men to alert them, and to ask them to send warriors to protect Avaldsnes.”
“Do the locals head to Avaldsnes?” Hakon asked with alarm. It took time to gather an army, and the possibility of them arriving at Avaldsnes after Erik's sons was high. They would be butchered if they came upon the camped army of Erik's sons one ship at a time.
“The men of Karmoy are to come to Avaldsnes at all haste,” Eskil interjected quickly. “Those from other areas are to evade Erik's sons at all cost and to gather at Holl
koppevik, north of the Karmsund Strait.”
Hakon breathed a little easier. Hollkoppevik was a wise choice, for the inlet lay far off the coast in a cluster of rocky islands. Unless you hailed from Rogaland or southern Hordaland, you probably had no idea it even existed. Which meant the men could gather in safety, if they could get away from their homes before Erik's ships found them.
“Ottar is staying at Avaldsnes,” Eskil continued solemnly. “He will hold it as long as he can.”
Hakon grimaced, for the news was both welcome and bitter. Ottar had always been a clever man and a brave one. Now those two attributes would pit him against Erik's sons and their vastly superior numbers in order to give Hakon enough time to gather his own army. The king's eyes moved to Egil, for Ottar was Egil's nephew, and his loss at the hands of Erik's sons — men Egil had told Hakon to kill after Erik's defeat winters ago — would cut Egil deeply. The old man's eyes bored into Hakon. He then turned without a word, hobbled his way through the crowd, and disappeared.
Hakon felt the pain of Egil's silent rebuke, but there was no time to dwell on it. He turned back to his host. “What say you, Eldgrim? We sail south as soon as we can. We could use you and your men in this fight.”
Eldgrim scratched at the gray hair hiding his jowls. “As you can see, my lord, I am no longer the warrior I once was. Winters ago, you could count on me to bring a warship to Tore's service filled with spear-warriors. Now, save for a few younger sons in my hird, my warriors are aging, as am I.”
Hakon sensed the man was building a case to decline, and pressed him. “That may be true. But I also know your abilities, and those of your men, which is why I ask.”
Eldgrim's gray brows slanted down toward his nose, and for a long moment he remained silent. “I was no friend of Erik's, which is why I threw my lot in with Tore. But now both men are dead. I have no quarrel with Erik's sons. And if my son fights alongside them, I would not wish to see him across the field from me.”
“That sounds like a no to me,” Toralv grumbled.
“It is a no,” Eldgrim agreed icily.
The champion snorted. “You will be wishing it was an aye, lord, if Erik's sons win the day and come looking for their father's enemies.”
Hakon, too, was displeased. “Forget him, Toralv. Eldgrim has his reasons, and he is his own man. As for us,” Hakon raised his voice so his crew could hear, “wind or no wind, we leave on the morrow, at first light, for Hollkoppevik. Make camp here tonight and get your rest. We will need it for the journey south.” Hakon then turned back to his host. “If you change your mind, you and your men are welcome on my ship.”
Eldgrim sneered. “I will not be changing my mind. Erik was a bastard, but you banished my son, and now the Norns have tangled our threads and forced me to make a decision. I will come see you off in the morning.”
Hakon struggled to keep his emotions in check. “Do not bother.”
Eldgrim nodded curtly to his king. “As you wish.” He then departed with his men.
“I do not trust that man,” said Eskil when Eldgrim was out of earshot.
“Nor do I,” responded Toralv. “Mayhap we should burn him in his hall tonight before we end up facing him in a shield wall.” Several of Hakon's men grunted in agreement.
“We will do nothing of the sort,” Hakon said with finality. “He has given us safe harbor and a beach on which to camp. Post guards tonight. If there is any sign of trouble, we will retaliate.”
Toralv nodded, while Egbert crossed himself.
As the men saw to their tasks, Hakon remained in his spot, chewing on the dismal realities and questions and worries that accosted his mind as if they were a piece of gristly meat. Hakon was glad of only one thing: the wait was over. Erik's sons had finally come. On the morrow, Hakon and his men would sail for home, and for battle.
Chapter 6
Six days after leaving Stad on their southward journey, the low, dark islands of Hollkoppevik came into view on the horizon. They were nothing more than a group of jagged, sea-battered skerries painted white with bird shit, but they brought a smile to Hakon's face nevertheless.
It had been a mentally and physically difficult journey south. The strong southerly that had forced them to seek shelter at Shadow Haven continued for half the voyage. Though they were able to navigate the network of channels that defined the western coast of the North, it did little to protect them from the swells or the wind that hammered their hulls. It often felt as if the men pulled at the oars only to ensure they did not glide backward in the water. At night, they lay at anchor in whatever bay they could find to get out of the howling gales and preserve what little progress they had made during the day. They could light no fires, nor could they converse much in the maelstrom. Not that they had the energy to, or the desire. After a day at the oars, most of the men ate what stockfish they could stomach, then covered themselves as best they could to rest.
Hakon sensed there was something more, though it remained unspoken — a heaviness that weighed on their spirits. If they felt anything like Hakon felt, then they too would be feeling that aching eagerness to reach their loved ones and that nagging feeling that the weather, or mayhap something greater, was working against them. He spoke of it to no one, for they, like him, would never admit to it; like them, he bore the ache in silence and prayed for the weather and their luck to turn.
Three days into their southward journey, they awoke to a wind that had finally shifted in their favor. With a cheer, the crews hoisted their sails, thanking the gods for the sudden reprieve. Like the wind, the mood on board suddenly changed, and so it was with renewed energy and lighter spirits that they fared down the channels for three more days and out into the open sea where the low islands of Hollkoppevik lay in the distance.
Now, Dragon and Sea Snake approached Hollkoppevik from the northeast. As they drew closer, Hakon ordered the sails furled, for the currents swirled heavily here and were too much for the helmsmen alone. Oars were the only way to counter that force and keep their ships from slamming against the skerries.
“There!” called Toralv from the prow as he pointed to the channel that would take them into the bay they sought. The channel was little more than a tear in the landscape only slightly wider than twice the breadth of Dragon's hull. Eskil, who now helmed Hakon's ship, pulled hard on the steer board to align her with the swells that shot the channel. Behind them, Sea Snake followed Dragon's lead.
A swell built under Dragon, carrying her swiftly toward the gap in the rocks. Hakon gripped the gunwale, for there was no coming about and no room for error.
“More to port!” Toralv called from the prow, gesturing frantically with his arms to the left.
“Oars in!” Eskil called as he made a slight adjustment on the steer board.
“More to port!” Toralv called again as the rocks grew before him.
Hakon held his breath, expecting at any moment to hear the crunch of wood against rock. But Eskil knew his craft and had judged the ocean correctly. At the last minute, a swell bounced off the island wall and rolled back at Dragon, shifting her slightly so that her prow dove into the rocky channel. Jagged slabs littered with mussels and seaweed sped by the ship's wooden hull. The gray ocean careened off of them and shot upward to either side, splashing the deck and dousing the men who held tight to the ship. And then they were through, and the ship slowed. But the danger was not yet over, for the swells continued to push them forward. If Dragon did not turn, she would slam against the small bay's far wall.
Eskil pushed hard on the steer board to turn Dragon southwest, away from the swells. “Port side! Oars down!” he called.
Those on the right side of the ship slid their oars into the sea and held mightily to their sweeps. Slowly, the warship responded and came about. As it did, the other ships came into view, and their crews cheered.
“God is good,” said Egbert as they gazed upon the ships. He stood by Hakon's side with a wide grin on his face and his cross in his hand.
Hakon did not share Egbert's joy. Instead, he cursed softly as he looked at Toralv. The champion was looking back at his king, his face a mask of concern.
“What is it?” Egbert asked.
“It is not enough,” grumbled Egil as he came to stand beside his king and the priest. He kept his voice low so the rest of the crew did not overhear.
“Not enough?” The priest looked from the old warrior to his king.
Hakon kept his eyes on the ships, tallying the numbers in his head. In all, there were eight ships, none of them large, which meant that if he were lucky, mayhap two hundred or so men had answered his call. And few would be hardened warriors like those in his own hird.
“There are not enough ships, which means there are not enough men,” Hakon explained quietly to Egbert as Dragon glided forward and Sea Snake slid into the bay behind her.
“Surely more will come,” Egbert said with alarm in his voice.
Hakon looked at him. “Keep your voice low,” Hakon warned, then turned back to the scene before him. “When will they come, Egbert? In two days' time? Three? We cannot wait that long.”
The joy that had graced Egbert's face moments before evaporated. “God will help us,” he said.
Hakon grinned sardonically. Years ago, he would have believed those words without question. But he had seen enough in his life now to know that prayers often went unanswered. Still, it could not hurt to call upon God for help. “If you have some prayers to aid us, Egbert, now is the time to use them.”
Three more ships arrived that night, but by then, it was clear to all that they could be sailing into poor odds. They'd originally planned to attack Avaldsnes head on from the Karmsund Strait, but now their numbers and their lack of information about the enemy force required a more deceptive strategy.
That night, Hakon called a meeting on his deck. The chieftains listened intently to their king's new plan, which he laid out in detail. He did not mince words or attempt to paint a favorable picture of what lay before them all. Rather, he stated the facts as much as they were known, and made it clear that they would be fighting for their homes.
War King Page 7