To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  But now I realized the warriors who guarded the docks were wearing the heavy leather armor and the metal helms marking them as Birgir’s men. It seemed that the magnates had responded too slowly, though they had been alerted by Ejegod’s quick messengers. Birgir must have planned well with his warriors, for they held the Tillfallvik waterfront in strength as the magnates had arrived one by one. Most of the magnates loyal to Ejegod had turned back at the sight of the warriors rather than face a massacre. Those who were loyal to Birgir had landed and paid homage to their new chieftain.

  I saw it in a flash, in all its horrid misery for the townsfolk. “Birgir’s men are guarding the docks,” I said aloud. “They have control of Tillfallvik.”

  Amaruq shifted next to me. “You can see this?”

  “Yes, through the water. They have shields on their chests that will deflect your arrows.”

  Amaruq gestured to his son, who gave a low owl cry through his cupped hands. The boats gathered close together as he explained the situation to his men. Olfs hovered over nearly every man, prepared to light their way. The Thule decided to split into two groups, intending to land on either side of the town, where they would be concealed from the docks. They would approach the docks by land.

  Silveta and I were taken to the leeward side of Tillfallvik, close to the river, where we had emerged from the hills the night we escaped. I wished the Thule could simply retrace our steps and attack the estate from its vulnerable rear, but Amaruq said it was better to deal with Birgir’s men in two smaller groups rather than all at once. Attacking the estate first would leave the Thule exposed from behind.

  When we landed, Silveta took my hand tightly in a nervous grip. Lexander was with the other group of Thule. I wished I’d had the chance to tell him I loved him before he went into danger. What if he paid the ultimate price for Markland’s freedom? I would never forgive myself for insisting that Amaruq bring him with us.

  Several of the youngest Thule, mere boys, were sent with us to alert the townsfolk. Silveta led us in a scrambling run in the dark, up a familiar lane toward Torgils’ house. But now the town was empty without all the animals and carts that used to crowd the muddy roads. There was a barren look to the place with many of the buildings boarded up.

  A loud groaning sound echoed through the town, and I knew it was the Skraeling gods. “Do you hear that?” I demanded, stopping Silveta. “Foretelling many deaths . . .”

  “ ’Tis but the wind in the eaves,” she protested. But the Skraeling boys held their knives more firmly, as if prepared to face the worst. They and the olfs knew I spoke the truth.

  Silveta’s hasty knock was answered by a man I didn’t recognize. Apparently, neither did Silveta. She backed away.

  In the small circle of light cast by the candle, the man’s eyes widened. I thought for a moment that we had stumbled onto a nest of Birgir’s bondsmen as he mouthed Silveta’s name in disbelief. “We thought you dead, freya! It is said you leaped to your death from the bastion. . . .”

  “I escaped from the overlord,” Silveta told him. “I’ve brought warriors.”

  He ushered us inside, where Silveta was greeted with even more amazement by Torgils. The Skraeling boys were eyed suspiciously, but when Silveta hastily explained the battle plan, Torgils called for his weapons. There were only a few men with him, and I remembered with a pang how many had filled the longhouse the last time we were here.

  “Gather the loyalists,” Torgils ordered them. “We’ll meet at the marketplace to keep the warriors from retreating to the estate. By the gods, this is what I longed to do all these days! Well done, freya.”

  As we impatiently waited in Torgils’ home for the other men to gather, I realized the Skraelings were already at work. The olfs showed me their shadowed forms creeping along the waterfront, approaching the docks. Birgir’s warriors seemed unaware of the danger, with most sleeping. A handful were on guard, but several were playing at dice, huddled together and ignoring the darkness over the water.

  My eyes glazed as everything else disappeared except for the impending fight. Skraelings notched their arrows, sending olfs dashing ahead to light their targets. Nearly three-score warriors were lying on mats on the ground, prepared to leap into action at the first alert. Their weapons lay beside them, reflecting the dim light of the olfs.

  Amaruq gestured to his men to take their positions. They crouched tensely in the night with only the lapping of the waves to tell them they were close to the water. A soft hoot from Amaruq was echoed by other Skraelings, carrying the sound to the men who had approached from the other side of the docks.

  The Skraelings notched their arrows, pointing them high so they would arch down into the mass of warriors. I held my breath as the signal went out. Arrows were loosed and a rain of death fell on Birgir’s men.

  Screams pierced the night. Many of the arrows fell harmlessly, but others found their mark. Men writhed on the ground, clutching their bellies and legs. Some lay still with shafts protruding from their prone bodies. Though death was a fearsome sight, I felt my heart racing with excitement.

  The rest of the warriors leaped into action, snatching up their weapons and frantically trying to find their attackers in the darkness. The savvy ones shouted, “Cover your heads with your shields, men!”

  They were just in time to stop another rain of arrows that fell among them. More shrill cries shattered the night. But the warriors were now forewarned and they gathered in a defensive line to fend off the Skraelings.

  Then the olfs showed me something that almost made me swoon—Lexander knelt at the back of the line of Skraelings, far away from Amaruq. Nerriviq stood over him, a heavy knife raised high. He brought the knife slashing down toward Lexander’s throat.

  I screamed out loud, thinking Nerriviq had betrayed Lexander and was taking his life. But Lexander didn’t flinch as the knife arched down in front of him and hit the chain that lay against a rock. Sparks flew as the links broke and the chain was severed from the metal band around his arm. Lexander stood up, meeting Nerriviq’s eyes squarely as he took the knife as his weapon. He intended to join the fight!

  Silveta shook my shoulder hard. “Marja! What ails you?”

  I lost my link with the olfs and was back inside Torgils’ home. The men were staring at me. “The Skraelings have attacked the docks!” I exclaimed. “We must hurry to help them.”

  Torgils frowned at my proclamation, but he shouted for the men who had arrived to follow him. Silveta was urged to stay where it was safe, but she shook them off unheeding. With Lexander in danger on the docks, nothing could stop me from accompanying them there.

  We rushed down the steep street as the sky was beginning to lighten. Sounds of the high-pitched Thule war cry rose as we neared the marketplace. Olfs skimmed along above us, but they were increasingly subdued by the death that was being dealt.

  “Stand back!” Torgils roared to Silveta.

  The townsfolk rushed past us into battle, brandishing their axes and swords. More were arriving every minute, and I grabbed Silveta’s arm. “This way,” I urged, knowing where there was a vantage point from the images I received from the olfs. Birgir’s warriors were being slowly driven away from the water by the Skraelings.

  We ran around a row of buildings, and suddenly the sounds of fighting grew louder. At the end of the lane, where it opened into the marketplace, a clump of townsfolk closed in on the warriors wearing breastplates and helms. Then another flurry of arrows appeared, arching down into the mass of Birgir’s warriors. At least five went down screaming and clutching their necks or arms.

  The remaining warriors turned and ran straight into the townsfolk, who were armed and ready. Their weapons clashed with the high-pitched ringing of metal. I saw Torgils raise his sword and bring it down on someone; then he was gone in the shifting bodies.

  I clasped my hands together, pleading with the olfs, “Don’t let them shoot!” I was afraid the Skraelings would massacre the townsfolk who were trying to help the
m. Somehow my plea must have gotten through because no more arrows fell from the sky.

  Silveta started forward as the townsfolk drove the warriors back toward the docks. I cringed at the sight of adlets hovering over the wounded. The shadowy creatures were sinking down to drink in the blood and agony. The wounded were all Noromenn, no Skraeling that I could see. The olfs were fleeing from the marketplace, driven by the pain that drenched the area.

  By the time we crossed the open marketplace, the battle on the waterfront was over. All of Birgir’s men were down, dead or wounded. Skraelings were kneeling beside each body, jerking their arrows from their wounds. Blood and worse spilled onto the dirt.

  I looked anxiously for Lexander, and found him near Amaruq. He had acquired an ax and a long sword, and both were bloody. The chain dangled from the metal collar and swung at his waist, freeing him to fight. His cloak was gone, but the leather cap still concealed his smooth head.

  The townsfolk gathered uneasily in front of the Skraelings, eyeing the threatening bristle of spears and long bows. But the crude banners that the Thule carried, displaying the shape of a bull, were unmistakable signs of their support for Silveta.

  Lexander began translating between Amaruq and Torgils, so Silveta and I quickly joined them.

  “Birgir has nearly seventy men inside the estate,” Torgils explained.

  “The sentries must have alerted Birgir by now,” Lexander said. “A frontal assault on the estate could be disastrous.”

  I nervously eyed the hilltop that hid the estate from view. Surely Birgir had placed sentries up there to watch what happened on the docks. A warlord such as he would not dare be caught by surprise.

  “Take the Skraelings to the rear,” Torgils decided. “We’ll attack the estate from two places. You go first, and we’ll wait until men are drawn from the front gate; then we’ll move in. Make some noise so we can hear.”

  Lexander looked doubtful, but every second they delayed gave Birgir more time to prepare. He quickly explained to Amaruq, who gestured to the Skraelings. They melted away, heading inland.

  Lexander glanced at me as he left, and I put my fingertips to my mouth, wanting to kiss him. But he turned away. Dozens of olfs appeared and darted after them, leaving only a few behind to protect the Thule wounded. As for the Noromenn, those who were not dead yet would soon be struggling under the adlets’ otherworldly assault.

  I wanted to go with the Skraelings, but Silveta could not manage the rough terrain in the darkness. And I couldn’t leave her alone. The sounds of the crying, cursing wounded echoed after us as we followed the growing crowd of townsfolk, men and women alike. Many carried ordinary tools—pitchforks or long wood axes. They looked grimly ready to strike a blow against the tyrant who had killed so many of their kin. From their lean, haggard faces, it appeared that Birgir’s war had cost them more than anyone else in Markland.

  We ran up the sloping streets to the chieftain’s estate. It was on the top of a tall hill, giving Birgir the advantage. A blackened ring of exposed ground surrounded the palisade. Under Ejegod’s rule, it had been overgrown with evergreens and shrubs, but Birgir’s men had burned everything back in a wide swath to better defend the estate. It looked formidable.

  The men conferred, then crept closer, taking cover behind the fences and buildings of Tillfallvik. Silveta and I were too far back to see anything but the townsfolk ahead of us. They were carrying ladders, which they expected to use to breach the walls. There was no sound from behind the palisade. The olfs drifted up and over the top.

  “Warriors are there, waiting for us to attack,” I whispered to Silveta.

  Her eyes shifted. “It was too much to hope we could catch him unawares.”

  I had no doubt who she meant. Birgir was inside those walls. I shivered at the thought of facing him. I had done everything I could to bring this about, but now it was beyond my control. The only thing I could do was pray to Ig nirtoq, the god of light and truth, to right this terrible wrong that Birgir had done.

  In the distance rose the sound of unearthly wailing. It roared louder and higher than I thought possible, going on and on. Fear clutched my heart as I imagined the vengeance of a god descending on the Skraelings. Perhaps this was the sound the Kristna god made as he smote Birgir’s enemies . . .

  But the olfs showed me the truth. A few Skraelings were swinging long cords in circles over their heads, making the horrid wailing sound. Birgir’s men inside the palisade trembled in fear, shrinking back from their posts. The Skraelings sent scores of arrows over the palisade, guided by the olfs to hit their targets. Many of the arrows bounced harmlessly off the warriors’ metal helms. They crouched beneath their round shields to outwait the deadly rain.

  The Skraelings took advantage of this and raced toward the palisade. They began nimbly climbing the logs, cresting the top with their spears held ready. Birgir’s warriors met them with cries of encouragement to their fellows as they tried to stem the tide of Skraelings spilling over the top.

  “What’s happening?” Silveta demanded, shaking me from my trance.

  “They’re going over the palisade,” I told her.

  The townsfolk froze around us, waiting for the signal to attack.

  The familiar screams of battle rose in the distance. “Lexander,” I breathed. How could he escape this maelstrom unharmed? I pleaded with the olfs to show me Lexander, but they were so disturbed by the violence that they sent me no vision in return. I shook in fear, silently pleading with the Skraeling gods to protect him.

  The warriors behind the front gate began moving toward the rear of the estate to fight off the incursion. Olfs floated deeper inside, spinning to urge us forward. Silveta and I clutched each other tighter.

  At a signal from Torgils, the townsfolk erupted from their hiding places, running to the gate with their weapons. Silveta and I hurried to the last protecting wall where we could see. The townsfolk propped their ladders against the palisade and began climbing up. It was so smoothly done that I felt a spurt of hope.

  Then a few of Birgir’s men appeared at the top. They threw down large rocks, hitting several of the men who were halfway up. Others shoved the ladders to one side or toppled them over on their back. Cries burst out and men fell limply to the ground.

  “They’re killing them!” Silveta said.

  I kept her from rising. “Don’t let them see you!” Doubtless Birgir would order his men out in force if he knew Silveta was here. She was the ultimate prize that all now fought over.

  Frightened by a rain of hefty rocks, the townsfolk had no choice but to flee back to the safety of the buildings. Some dragged their wounded neighbors out of danger. Even the olfs retreated, no longer joyous. There was too much blood on the ground for that. I felt much the same way.

  “Maybe the Skraelings are beating them . . .” Silveta started, then cocked her head.

  “I don’t hear anything,” I agreed.

  “Are they inside?” Silveta asked.

  It wasn’t long before we learned the truth. Lexander returned with several dozen Skraelings. Silveta and I ran to join Torgils to listen to their deliberations.

  “They’ve raised the palisade in the rear,” Lexander was saying quietly. “We can’t get in that way. The Skraelings are gathering logs to make ramps to get over, but the estate is well defended.”

  Torgils frowned as he nodded. “Have them bring around a couple of stout logs. We need battering rams to get through the gate.”

  Lexander passed on the request. “The Skraelings aren’t going to be much help in such close quarters.”

  “Tell them to hang back and pick off any warriors who poke their heads above the palisade. We could also use a phalanx of Skraeling with spears to clear a path through them once the gate is open.”

  Silveta had her hands clasped together tightly, flinching at the cries of the wounded around us. “We’ve lost so many people! How can we possibly win?”

  “We need help,” Lexander agreed. “Can’t you rally mo
re townsfolk?”

  Torgils glanced from side to side. “Shall we sacrifice our children, too? Any who are able-bodied are already here.”

  “This is dreadful,” Silveta cried.

  “You wanted war,” Lexander pointed out.

  “No,” I countered, “she wanted to save our land.”

  Torgils grunted. “Then it looks as if we are the ones to try.” His fond gaze rested on Silveta. “It gives me heart that you returned, freya. With a warband of Skraelings, no less! You are truly fit to rule Markland. I only wish we could give you what you deserve.”

  Shouts went up, and for a moment I thought Birgir was attacking. But everyone pointed in the opposite direction. The misty morning light glinted off the waves of the bay down below.

  “Ships!” Silveta exclaimed.

  We retreated to a street where we could see the waterfront. Two knaars moved swiftly for such deep hulls because there were many men rowing them.

  “That’s the overlord’s crest,” said sharp-eyed Lexander.

  “Oh, no . . .” I moaned. I doubted the overlord would be content to shut us in a tower this time. But I would rather risk my life in his hands than in Birgir’s.

  “Why has the overlord come here?” Torgils demanded.

  “To seal his bargain with Birgir, no doubt,” Lexander replied grimly. “But Jedvard rarely leaves the bastion . . .”

  “What are we to do?” Silveta asked.

  Lexander considered it. “To be sure, Birgir has already seen them sailing into the bay. Torgils, keep the warriors bottled up inside while I go down to the docks.”

  I wasn’t about to be left behind. Silveta and I held on to each other for balance as we dashed down the muddy roads after him.

  A dozen Skraelings were concealed near the waterfront, their arrows notched and ready to fly. As we ran up to the docks, Silveta gasped and cried out. Tears flowed down her cheeks and her knees gave way.

  I thought she was overcome. I helped her sit down on the wooden planks. “Are you ill, Silveta?”

  “Don’t you see! It’s Jens,” she exclaimed, pointing out to the knaars.