Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1)

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Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 8

by Jerry Autieri


  Yngvar stared at Thorfast, then checked on Bregthor and his accomplice. Both seemed satisfied they had not been caught and returned to the darkness. The tiller remained tied to the course Brandr had set.

  "We can defeat them," Yngvar whispered back. "Wake Bjorn."

  Thorfast shook his head, and withdrew his arm back into his sleep sack. Yngvar also fell silent as Bregthor and his shadowy companion walked among the sleeping men. Blue light flashed from their drawn swords as they carefully stepped between sleeping bodies, peering down at each man.

  Yngvar ducked his head into the sack, and bit his lip as the footfalls drew nearer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Yngvar held his breath as either Bregthor or his murderous accomplice hung over him. His side tingled with the imagined plunge of a sword into his body. In the black of the sleep sack, where all smelled of his own sweat and wet breath, he waited until the footfalls continued past. He remained hidden a long time, constantly reimagining Brandr's black shape in the blue moonlight. He heard the faint splash of water a hundred times before he peeked out of the sack again.

  No one stirred on the deck. The whole crew was asleep now. Had Brandr not set anyone to help him? Even if he had been fine to take the tiller, he would have had a second man with him. If Bregthor had not killed that man, Yngvar thought, then whoever had remained to aid Brandr was a traitor as well.

  Yngvar met Thorfast's eyes in the indigo darkness. His whites were as bright as his hair. The two remained still and staring at each other until dawn began to stain the horizon. Yngvar repeated Brandr's murder over and over in his memory. Filthy Bregthor would try to cover up his crime, but Yngvar and Thorfast had witnessed it. He would not cheat justice. Yngvar just needed dawn to come, when he would enjoy the safety of numbers to support him.

  As the first men stirred, Yngvar was quick to sit up. Again, Thorfast pulled him down, daring a louder whisper.

  "Don't be the one to discover this. Let another do it or Bregthor will suspect you."

  "I don't care," Yngvar hissed back. "He murdered my cousin."

  "And he'll murder us when he finds out we know," Thorfast said. "When we get home, we can tell your father what happened. He will avenge his brother. Don't risk our lives."

  Their harshly whispered exchange seemed to awaken others close to them. Though Bjorn was close enough to touch, he remained on his back with his mouth open and snoring.

  The first men to discover the ship had been drifting were those closest to the tiller. Yngvar narrowed his eyes at Bregthor, who was among the small number of men gathering at the steering board.

  "Awaken!" shouted one of the men. "Brandr is missing!"

  The news seeped across the deck, rousing men in small groups from their weary slumber. Yngvar kicked at Bjorn, who rolled over with a snort. "Go away."

  Yngvar pulled him out of the sleep sack and rolled Bjorn onto his back. He pulled his cousin's eyelids open. "Brandr was murdered last night. Bregthor and another threw him overboard."

  Bjorn pulled Yngvar's hands from his eyes, then blinked at him as if he had not understood. The moment those eyes widened in comprehension, Yngvar clasped his hand over Bjorn's mouth.

  "Don't say or do anything until we know what's going on," Yngvar said, leaning close to Bjorn's face. "We don't know who is on our side yet."

  Nodding agreement, Yngvar let his hand off Bjorn's mouth. Thorfast, now also standing, tipped his head in agreement with Yngvar. He had said the words but did not feel them in his heart. He stared over his shoulder at Bregthor pantomiming how Brandr must've fallen overboard. Yngvar realized silence was prudent, but more than anything he burned to stick a dagger through Bregthor's neck and toss him overboard. Let him drown in his own blood.

  "He must've drunk too much," said one man. "Probably leaned overboard to puke and then a wave took him. I've seen it before."

  "He didn't drink anything," countered another.

  "Could've been a swell that knocked him off balance," offered another.

  Yngvar now joined the crowd at the steering board. He noted how Bregthor had draped himself across the tiller as if assuming possession of the ship. He couldn't help but glare at him, and lazy-eyed Bregthor straightened his back at the challenge.

  "What happened?" he asked. To his own ears, the falseness of his question was plain. Yet many men cast him a condolent smile.

  "Brandr must've fallen overboard," said one man with a thick red scar beneath his left eye. "I'm sorry, boy. You lost two kin in one day."

  "How did it happen?" Yngvar's question was flat, and several of the crew glanced at him with raised brows. He didn't care if they wondered at his reaction.

  "No one knows," Bregthor said. "Best guess is he either leaned too far over the rails and fell or a swell caused him to stumble overboard."

  Staring at Bregthor, Yngvar held his question until he felt every eye upon him. "Why do we have to guess? Surely Brandr would not have steered all alone. Who was with him?"

  This caused a stir among the crew. They were too surprised or sleepy to have thought this through. Yngvar, however, had been brooding for hours. Soon men were turning to the shorter man at Bregthor's left. His eyes protruded like a fish and his scraggly hair was the color of iron. Yngvar noted he seemed as trustworthy as a viper, and the cords protruding from his neck only enhanced his cold-blooded appearance. Whatever this person said would be a lie.

  "Davin, you were to tend the rigging," said the man with the red scar. "What happened?"

  Davin, his bulging eyes suddenly jittering as if he searched for an escape, only let his mouth open.

  So here was the second man who had followed Bregthor around the deck looking for witnesses to silence.

  "I was exhausted like all of you," Davin said, finding his story. "I dozed off. That's when Brandr must've fallen overboard, otherwise he'd have woke me."

  "I didn't know my cousin for long, but he didn't seem the type to let anyone doze off. He gave me this armband then put me on an oar. No time for me to doze off."

  Bregthor now stepped from behind the tiller to face Yngvar. His gaze was unfocused but no less furious for it. "What are you saying? Are you accusing Davin of throwing Brandr overboard?"

  Yngvar could not keep his smile down. "I wasn't speaking to you, Bregthor. Nor did I accuse anyone of such a heartless murder. Do you think my cousin was murdered? No one else has said anything about murder."

  That was the step over the threshold Yngvar should not have taken. The fury in Bregthor's face drained away. He stepped back and let his tensed arms relax at his side. Behind his unfocused, black eyes there seemed a growing comprehension that he and Yngvar were going to be enemies. Yngvar had essentially admitted to witnessing the murder. He regretted this, glancing at Bjorn who had dutifully restrained himself. Gods know keeping his mouth shut must have been a colossal battle waged across his raging heart. Yet Yngvar had been the one to give away their safety.

  "I'm sorry," Bregthor said. "I'm as shocked and tired as everyone else. I misspoke. Davin is a good friend, and I took offense too easily. You'll forgive me?"

  "Of course." Yngvar had to speak the words, but in his heart he added forgiveness will come when Bregthor is drowned in a bucket of horse piss.

  "Friends, no one can know what happened to Brandr." Thorfast now stepped before Bregthor, addressing the wider crew. "That secret has gone to the sea grave with him. It is a tremendous loss for all of us. But it must have been the time the Fates had set for him, and we mortals can do nothing about it. Let us remember him well and as the man who guided us away from our enemies. Now, we have the dead to attend. We've many days at sea ahead of us, and that's if Thor is as kind to us as he was for the journey north."

  "Well spoken," said the man with the red scar. "Wisdom from one so young."

  "Does anyone know where we are?" asked one man from the edge of the gathered crew. "We are not headed south, not as I reckon."

  Heads turned toward the sun at the horizon, which was now
fat and orange over a clear sky. The winds had shifted again, and with the tiller tied in place it now seemed they had been pushed onto a western course. The seas rippled morning light over the waves in the gentle wind.

  "We can get back on course," said another man. "But we're at least a day off in good weather, more if it turns against us. We have to bury our fellows at sea."

  The crew called out their agreement. Yngvar went along with them and tried to ignore Bregthor. Yet he could not help notice that of the remaining crew, a large number of them seemed to congregate by Bregthor. Yngvar tried to tell himself this meant nothing. But their glances at each other were too reserved to be coincidental. Where others were trying to console each other with a promising word, a smile, or a laugh, these men seemed to be calculating something.

  Yngvar's mood worsened as it seemed of the twenty or so men left, these silent men around Bregthor were the majority. Well, of course they would be. Bregthor and his cronies would've hid at the back of any fight. So they would survive. The sincerest and bravest would've thrown themselves into the enemy and therefore more of them would've died.

  "Good work," Bjorn said to Thorfast. Yngvar's face heated up. It was quite a thing when Bjorn could chastise him for speaking out of turn, even if he did it indirectly.

  "How's your dog bite?" Yngvar asked. "Healing up, I hope. We're going to need a strong fighting arm before this voyage is done."

  Bjorn pulled off his bandage, which was now brown with splashed blood, and threw it on the deck. The bite was dark red and scabbed, all good signs of healing. Thorfast took Yngvar by the arm and led him from the dispersing crew.

  "It's not as bad as you might think," he said. "Though you all but told Bregthor you saw him do it."

  "I couldn't help it. He jumped right on the bait and nearly admitted it himself. Do you think anyone else suspects him?"

  "How can I know what others think? Listen, you and Bjorn are the sons of great jarls. He's not going to risk killing you."

  "Last night you were certain he'd kill us. Can't you make up your damn mind?"

  Thorfast clucked his tongue. "Last night he could've killed anyone and covered it with lies. Today, if you and Bjorn die then he'll have a problem. The men will know Jarl Gunnar's family was targeted by someone. This is not a big boat. Someone is going to realize Bregthor's evil, and then he'll have to kill most of the crew to silence them. But that won't happen, will it? He'd be risking his own life in a straight up fight. So even if he kills you and never returns to Frankia, when your father eventually learns what happened he will have revenge. Your father could pay handsomely for Bregthor's head. So he's better off letting you live."

  "You assume he's not a fool," Yngvar said.

  Thorfast smirked. "I assumed as much about you, and look what that has gained me?"

  Yngvar rebuffed the kidding with a wave of his hand. He went to crouch beside Uncle Gunnar's shrouded corpse. He pulled back the cloak to place his hand on his uncle's frigid arm. It was like touching cold, wet wax. Gunnar's hand was clamped to the small sax. The green gem on the pommel blinked at Yngvar, as if it invited him to take the sword. The idea lingered and he felt deep shame for thinking it. He had gifted it to his uncle. To take it back ... yet he wanted it. Somehow he felt the sword would be better in his hand than in a dead man's at the bottom of the ocean.

  The sword came free after three hard tugs. Two men watched him without comment. Yngvar now drew Gunnar's own sword and replaced it in his uncle's frozen grip. All the while he kept the face covered.

  "You want me to take this," he said to the corpse. "I don't know why I know this, but I feel it in my blood. I will wield it with honor and gather glory to our family with it. Thank you, Uncle."

  He replaced the sword in its scabbard. He would have to oil and sharpen it soon, since it had sat exposed all night with only a cloak to protect it.

  No one challenged him when he took the sax, which now rested across his lap like any other man's short sword. Bjorn simply glanced at it and returned to brooding atop his sea chest. Thorfast raised his brow and smiled. The morning passed as men resumed control of the ship and set a new course.

  Yngvar realized he should've been more active in this, but he chose to let it pass. Bregthor and his men seemed content to handle the details. Well, no one could challenge that this ship belonged to his family and Bjorn's as well. Others had no right to it.

  By late morning the bodies had been prepared for sea burial. Bjorn and Yngvar had attended their uncle's body, wrapping it in two cloaks and ensuring his hand remained wed to his sword. Four corpses in total, all wrapped tight in faded cloaks, were now laid on a board over the starboard railing.

  "Someone should say something for these men," said the man with the red scar under his eyes. Friends spoke in turn for the three others, but when it came to Gunnar, eyes shifted to Yngvar and Bjorn. Bjorn's face reddened and he extended his palms toward Yngvar.

  "I'll say a few things," Yngvar said. "I hardly knew my uncle. But I've heard the great stories. He overcame the loss of a hand to lead men as hard and demanding as you. He died as he lived, fighting on the deck of his ship. Whatever his mistakes, he was true to himself. He died in glory and has gone on to the feasting hall of Valhalla. He will be waiting for us there with my grandfather and cousin. Farewell, Gunnar the Black. We'll keep your memory alive in songs of your deeds."

  Yngvar touched his uncle's wrapped hand a final time. Bjorn did the same. He had tears in his eyes, which shocked Yngvar. He hadn't known Uncle Gunnar any better, yet he seemed moved by his death. Bjorn just shook his head and stepped back.

  Without further ceremony, Yngvar helped tip the board up so the bodies slid over the side. The splash of the water was unnaturally loud and haunted Yngvar with memories of last night.

  Go find your son in the sea grave, he thought. Come back for revenge, Uncle. If anyone can, it must be Gunnar the Black.

  Yet he knew to rely on a revenant to take revenge was foolish. That would have to be done by mortal hands.

  "That's done," Bregthor said. "Now we have to decide on who leads this ship. I'm making my claim for it."

  Yngvar's hands went cold. What had Bregthor said?

  "Anyone opposed to it can save me the trouble and throw himself overboard now."

  The crewmen that had seemed so skeptical and nervous now gathered around Bregthor. His lazy eye only enhanced the wickedness of his smile. He had the majority of men behind him. This was his play, to steal the ship? Did he expect the crew to do anything but rebel?

  "You can't take the ship," said a weak voice from behind.

  "Who says I can't?" Bregthor set his foot on the rail. "Jarl Gunnar lied to us about this treasure of his. He promised us wealth, and he led us into a trap that killed ten of our friends. All so he could die like he wanted. Fuck him! We claim this ship as our share of treasure. We earned it with our blood."

  Bregthor's gaze settled on Yngvar, such as it could with only one eye to focus. His smile quivered like a worm, and Yngvar wanted to carve it off his lips.

  "What do you say to that, boy? Unless you have something better to offer us on behalf of your lying family, we're taking this ship."

  "You murdered Brandr. You and that snake, Davin. You fell upon him from behind and shoved him overboard. Then you walked the deck to make sure no witnessed you. I saw it all and so did Thorfast, you dog-fucking bastard!"

  Bregthor's sword hissed from its scabbard, and he leapt forward with a roar.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Despite the indolent cast of Bregthor's drifting eye, he was much faster than it made him seem. Yngvar scrambled back over the deck, bumping into men that shouted as they stepped aside. He grasped the cold leather of the sword hilt at his lap and tore it free in a smooth pull.

  The deck rocked and moaned with a sudden wave, causing Yngvar to spread his feet for stability. The same rocking put Bregthor off his strike. The air snapped beside Yngvar's ear as Bregthor's sword missed.

  Yngv
ar's shorter sax, however, stabbed up beneath Bregthor's overstretched arm and drove at his gut.

  But something hard caught his arm and the strike shuddered to a halt. The point dipped into Bregthor's chest, right beneath his sternum.

  "Stop this!" A man dragged Yngvar backward, where more hands grabbed him. Surprisingly, Bregthor's men did the same. They intercepted him, pushing him back into their thick numbers with shouts to stop on both sides.

  Thorfast wrestled with Bjorn, whose arm was folded across his body as he tried to draw his sword. Thorfast kept him pinned and off balance.

  "You little bastard," Bregthor called. "You think I fear you because of your father? Where is he now? I'll gut you like the kitten you are."

  Strong, hairy arms interlocked around Yngvar, holding him as tight as chains. "Everyone watch yourself around this liar or he'll slip you overboard like he did Brandr."

  "Enough!" The man with the red scar beneath his eye now interposed himself between Bregthor and Yngvar. Most men fell silent, but Bjorn and Thorfast both collapsed to the deck in their struggle. Bjorn howled like an injured dog while Thorfast rolled around the deck to keep him restrained.

  "Someone get those boys off each other," the scarred man said. "That's embarrassing."

  "Who are you to give orders to me?" Bregthor shouted at the scarred man. "I've made my claim, and I'm the leader here. You want to challenge me, Ander?"

  Ander held up a hand to Yngvar, his expression pleading for cooperation. Since he had seemed a reasonable man, Yngvar complied. He ceased struggling, though the strong hands on him did not relent. Ander then turned to Bregthor.

  "I'm doing you a favor, you fool. You know who these boys are?"

  Bregthor spit. "The pretty one is a dead man, that's sure enough. They're all turds, as far as I can see."

  The cursing did not sit well with most of the crew, including those on Bregthor's own side. Someone behind Yngvar spoke up.

  "They saved our lives. Without them, you'd have no ship to claim. You'd be dead or a slave."

 

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