The attacker was atop him, his face lost in shadow. No torches to aid him now, Yngvar only saw the outline of a thin man whose long hair burned blue with the moonlight. He was on him now, a blade glinting in his hand.
Yngvar threw a low kick, but the man was crouched down. He struck his attacker's side but did not knock him over.
"You ungrateful prick. It's me."
The shadowed man rolled Yngvar over without another word. He drove his dagger into the binds at his wrists and cut them free.
Precious warmth flowed back into Yngvar's hands, followed by a vicious torrent of needles. He remained still and blinking, uncomprehending of what had happened. His pulse throbbed in his neck as his arms fell gently to his sides.
"It's not going to take them long to figure out what we did," Thorfast said. He grabbed Yngvar's shoulder and rolled him back to face the sky. Thorfast was still lost in shadow, but Yngvar imagined the cocked eyebrow and skeptical expression nonetheless. "I won't mind if you spend the rest of your life being grateful to me, but right now we've got to run."
"How did you know? What is happening?"
"Later," Thorfast said. "I'm not wasting my breath now if we're just going to be cut to bits by vengeful hirdmen. Get up. I think Erik is taking control again."
Yngvar sat up, glad to have both hands restored to him. Across the field, the cluster of men and their bobbing torches seemed less frenetic. Erik stood at the center, like the hub of a wheel of fire. His shouting was indistinct from this distance, but his outrage was clear.
"Through the woods," Thorfast said. "Then to the shore."
Yngvar's feet throbbed in protest. "I can't run through the woods in the dark, not without sturdy boots. I'll put a branch through my foot."
"Compare that to an ax through your head."
Thorfast hauled him up. Yngvar saw he had almost made it to the cover of the trees when Thorfast had tackled him.
"At least tell me how you found me."
They both ducked down as they sped across the short distance to the trees. Thorfast led the way, speaking in a hushed voice over his shoulder. "Finding you was as easy as looking for the fight. You're always at the middle of one."
"I mean, you were waiting out here for me. How did you do it?" They entered into the woods, Yngvar's feet immediately encountering the sting of twigs and underbrush.
"I just ran beside you as you fled Hrut. I was only able to close the gap between us here."
Yngvar tripped on a branch and stumbled against a fallen trunk. He muffled a curse.
"This is going to be impossible. I need boots."
"Boot won't help you see where you're running. But Alasdair has them for you, and your sword."
"Alasdair is here?"
Thorfast shook his head as he helped Yngvar stand again. "He's on the ship, or I hope he is. Otherwise, we'll both be dying with our backs to the sea. At least that'll be heroic, won't it?"
He turned to run again, but Yngvar caught Thorfast's arm. "What do you mean by on the ship?"
"The plan, remember?" Thorfast said. "Steal a fast ship and hope no one catches up with us. Bjorn, Alasdair, and all the others should be bringing it around for us. My task was to make sure the hirdmen distracted Erik while I got you away. Your constant questions are interfering with that, if you didn't notice. Now let's get running. They have torches to help guide them through these trees."
Yngvar glanced back through the lace-like gaps between trees. True to Thorfast's prediction, the collection of torchlights were dispersing. A good number were heading directly toward them.
They both began to run without another word, Yngvar biting his lip against every rock and branch that assailed his feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Yngvar's flight through the woods left him cut and bruised worse than if he had been in a real battle. Branches had slapped his face and stabbed his feet. Stones and roots had hammered his toes into bloody nubs. His body stung with scrapes and throbbed with bruises from the dozens of falls he had endured. Now he flung himself into the cool grass on the opposite side of the woods, where the crescent moon spread its reflection across the gently lapping waves of the sea. He snorted the pine scents from his nose, and shook out needles caught in his hair. Some needles clung around his shirt collar, combining with the sweat pooled there to create a fierce itch.
He stared up at the dark sky and stars that winked through the patchwork of clouds. His chest rose and fell with the effort, and his body throbbed with every beat of his heart.
Thorfast collapsed beside him. The two remained wheezing and speechless.
Shouts echoed through the woods behind them. Yngvar let his head drop to the side, expecting to see orange balls of light bouncing toward them. Yet he saw nothing but the blue light of the moon painting the pines and spruce trees they had just plunged through.
"I've saved myself only to become a cripple," Yngvar said, closing his eyes against the pain pulsing in his feet.
"Running through a forest at night is like diving into a pile of spears and hoping for the best." Thorfast curled up from prone and gathered his knees to his chest. "I suppose that we survived shows the gods are with us tonight."
"Unless they're saving us for something better." Yngvar sat up with Thorfast. The ominous shouts out of the darkness warned that they had no time to delay. "Where's the ship?"
Craning around, Thorfast pointed out to the water. "Over there somewhere."
Yngvar rotated on the ground to follow Thorfast's pointing hand. He looked out on a calm sea that rippled with the faint light of the crescent moon.
"Tell me they're delayed," Yngvar said. Thorfast shrugged. "Exactly how were they going to steal the ship?"
"We raised the alarm, got everyone in a panic over Erik's disappearance. In the confusion, Ander and Bjorn went down to the docks to prepare for when most of the hirdmen left to find Erik. Amazing how a number of them knew where to look first. Anyway, they would've overcome any guards there and be waiting for the rest of the deserters to join them. I hope I told them the right place to meet us. But we couldn't be sure where he had taken you when we divided up. So they might be anywhere on the coast."
Yngvar rubbed his face and stared at the purring waves. "It was a cunning plan, right up until the part where it had to actually work."
"We didn't have much time to consider the particulars. We had a wee bit of pressure to make sure your head stayed on your shoulders. I seemed to have got that just right."
"Of course, sorry, that was well done. We will have to guess where the ship is. Do we follow the path north or do we go south? They could have overshot our location or fell short."
Thorfast scratched his head and stood. "I don't have a good guess. South of here would take us closer Erik's hall. I doubt they would linger there."
"If they didn't find us, the best thing they could do is head out to sea and let us hide. Then they could comb the coasts for us later on."
"Bjorn is with them, remember? I'd not be surprised if he tried to sail the ship directly through Erik's mead hall."
They picked up and headed north. Neither spoke the choice aloud, but both knew it was their likeliest chance to find the others.
The brief rest actually worsened the pain in Yngvar's feet. Standing again sent a roaring flame of agony through his toes and up his shins. He had to hobble with Thorfast's help until they found the softer beach sand. "To think I used to curse running through this," he said. "I'd take beach sand over woods any day."
The strand's width fluctuated as they proceeded north. At points they were walking single-file. Huge rocks dotted the beach, obscuring the way ahead and forcing them to skirt around. Shouts of their pursuers had faded into the background, though the dark wood was always at their left. Yngvar kept expecting torches to flicker into view, but nothing ever appeared.
"There they are," Thorfast said, stopping to point out to sea. A large rock inhibited their view, but the square sail of Uncle Gunnar's ship was clear and f
ull. Without shields on her racks, she looked like a raiding ship searching for a landing. "By the gods, they really did this!"
"I admit, I wasn't expecting success," Yngvar said, still brushing pine needles from his clothes. "Bjorn couldn't have had the patience for this."
"Ah, he's not that bad," Thorfast said. "He's just direct. Now come on."
Both were in high spirits as they skirted the boulders that jutted toward the sea.
On the other side, six men with spears and a torch were also staring out at the ship cruising through the night. They lined up on the beach at the edge of the surf, leaning on spears and talking in a low mumble.
Yngvar's hands went cold, and Thorfast reached for his sword.
"Are you mad?" Yngvar grabbed Thorfast's hand and pulled him back to the opposite side of the rock. They leaned against its cold hardness, staring at each other. Thorfast let his hand fall and Yngvar released his grip. "Gods, man, even my grandfather wouldn't charge six men with one sword."
"Well, what are we going to do? More will come."
Yngvar shook his head. He gestured for Thorfast to stay against the boulder, then peeked out at the men. They had pulled together in discussion, one man holding his guttering torch above all of them. He slipped back to Thorfast.
"They must've just seen the ship and now they're discussing what to do. My guess is they will leave men behind to track it while others go to fetch Erik."
"So we can attack when that happens?"
Yngvar nodded and put his finger over his mouth, then he gestured that they should get atop the boulders to observe. The moon was not exceptionally bright and both wore dark clothes. Thorfast's hair was bright, but from a distance it might not seem important. They clambered up onto the cold, smooth boulders and lay flat.
As expected, two men were already tramping away while four others remained. The torch went with the two who were leaving. The ship, however, was executing a wide turn as if to stay in this area.
"They are trying to guess if it is us on the shore," Yngvar whispered. "Did you work out a signal?"
"I thought we might be running and screaming when we got here. That was the signal, I suppose."
"Four men," Yngvar said, more to himself than Thorfast. "That's a horrible chance when we only have a single sword, and a bad chance even if we had two."
"But we have surprise, right?" Thorfast said hopefully. Yngvar waited to hear the plan, but Thorfast just smiled at him as if he had provided the key to all their problems.
"We're better off slipping away. We can't get past them on the beach. We can retreat to the woods and let Bjorn return for us tomorrow. In fact, we might have to wait a day or two before it will be safe to show ourselves."
"You realize I don't even know where to find drinking water," Thorfast said. "It's not like either of us has any wood craft to our name. That's the trouble with being the jarl's son and his son's best friend. We got to live an easy life."
"Well, I won't argue that anymore. What I thought was hard was nothing at all, and what I thought was fun has turned into a fever nightmare. But we've got no other choice. We'll be killed here if we fight."
They slid down the rock.
Coming up the beach behind them were a half-dozen torches. The men trudged ahead in silence, like a grim procession coming to claim Yngvar's and Thorfast's souls.
"So about fighting," Thorfast said.
"We can chance a run back to the forest, but someone will see us. Your damn hair is like a beacon in the moonlight."
"All right, how about surprise then?" Thorfast put his hand upon his sword hilt and cocked an eyebrow.
"Let me gather a few rocks first."
Yngvar pulled up the largest rocks he could fit easily in his hands, stuffing them in the crook of his left arm. With each rock he gathered, he checked the approaching enemy. They were in no rush, but soon they would find footprints in the sand.
"For gold and glory," Yngvar said. Thorfast smiled in answer.
They crouched low and circled the rocks. Thorfast held his sword in its sheath as he glided through the grass. One of the four men sat back from the others, relaxing. The remaining three huddled close in conversation. At least none wore mail. In fact, most were in sleep shirts of plain gray cloth.
Yngvar prepared his rocks, waiting for Thorfast to get into position opposite of him. Without word between them, they had created a plan. Yngvar would attack with rocks and draw them forward. Thorfast would ambush from the grass. The rest was for the Norns to decide.
Do I die today after all? If I do, then it is better than dying on my knees with my arms bound.
He glanced at Yngvar, now like a cat ready to pounce. They nodded at each other.
Yngvar stood and let his first rock fly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Yngvar pitched his rock with all the force of Thor throwing his hammer. As it sailed from his hand, he was already preparing another. The man sitting in the grass, leaning back on his arms as if relaxing at a summer festival, caught the stone on the back of his head. He screamed out as the stone thudded against the back of his skull. He toppled to the side and remained still.
Heart racing as if he were charging uphill, Yngvar slammed another rock at the next closest man. He tried for the head, as he still had time to aim. The rock struck the shocked man in the mouth, but the strike was at an angle and so bounced aside. Still he grabbed his face and staggered back.
The remaining two men did not know where to look. Yngvar pelted the third man with a stone, striking his shoulder with a meaty thud. Now they both had him.
"You little bastard!" One lowered his spear to charge, but the other foolishly cocked his arm to throw his spear.
The rock struck as the man's spear sailed through the air, landing far to Thorfast's left.
Now he had a weapon in reach. He dropped his remaining rocks and dashed for the spear. It jutted from the ground, the shaft still wagging with the force of the throw.
Spinning around, he slashed out with his spear. The man who had wisely kept his spear now charged at him.
He leapt aside just as Thorfast sprang on the spear-thrower. Yngvar had only a moment to see the blue flash of iron and Thorfast's streak of white hair. He had his own opponent.
They circled each other with spears flashing, batting tentatively at each other's weapon. Yngvar smiled at the frightened expression of his opponent. He was older and more experienced, but he was also without shield or armor. A man came to depend on his war gear to lend him courage in battle. He was fighting in a night shirt. Yngvar, however, had no such experience to draw upon and was unencumbered by worry.
A scream came from behind, but Yngvar did not turn. It was not Thorfast's scream. Yet Yngvar's opponent let his eyes slip past to whatever had happened behind.
Yngvar plunged along the edge of the enemy's extended spear. It was like a guide that slid the blade straight into the man's heart. Yngvar felt the spearhead catch on bone, then plunge through for the kill.
He shoved the man off his weapon, not hesitating to watch him fall. Instead, he whirled on the man whom he had struck in the mouth with a rock. He was backing to the sea, his own spear keeping Thorfast at bay, while blood flowed from broken teeth.
Never throw away a good weapon, he thought, except in the greatest need.
Yngvar hurled the spear, sending it in a wobbling arc to impale the final man through his thigh. He screamed and collapsed into the surf. He would bleed out in moments, but Thorfast dispatched him with a sword flick across his throat.
"They're coming," Yngvar said. Thorfast looked toward the sea, but Yngvar pointed him up the beach. "I mean the others are coming."
Torchlight bobbed and shook as the approaching enemy struggled to run across beach sand. Their shouts were distant but angry.
"Good thing Bjorn is also coming." Thorfast pointed to sea and the ship was heading straight for the shore. The square sail had been trimmed and oars rose and fell in a steady beat.
Both h
e and Yngvar leapt into the cold water and fought through the waves. Yngvar's feet burned up in the salt water so painfully that tears filled his eyes. Were it not the threat of death at his back he could never have endured. The cold muck was no relief to him. He and Yngvar were now waist deep when ropes from the shallow-draught raiding ship landed within reach. He coiled one around his arm as he pulled himself toward the ship. Thorfast did the same.
In moments the two of them were lying on the deck in an expanding pool of sea water flowing out beneath them. The night sky showed patches of stars above. Someone called to lower the sail, and it seemed to be falling right on Yngvar's face as it dropped.
Thorfast's head was close enough to touch the top of Yngvar's. His friend reached over and patted his leg. "We're getting lots of practice at this."
Bjorn and Alasdair appeared over him. The cherubic face of Alasdair was filled with worry, but Bjorn wore a satisfied smile.
"Now this is the adventure we've been seeking. You two have fun running around the woods? Did you hold hands like two lovers at yuletide?"
With help from Alasdair, Yngvar sat up. Water rushed from his shirt. He tried to avoid looking at his feet. To see the blood and bruises would only enhance the pain. Instead, he scanned the men at the oars. He counted his old crew plus several others who had apparently decided Erik was no longer their king. Including himself and Thorfast, the ship now had a nearly full crew of at least eighteen men. He wasn't sure of his count. Ander Red-Scar guided the ship at the tiller and raised one hand briefly to wave. The rest of the rowers sweated over their oars, but also spared him a welcoming smile.
"Lord, your feet." Alasdair crouched over his feet. Bjorn stood over him as well, hands on his hips.
"Did you run through a carpet of nails? Looks like you kicked an anvil a few times as well."
"Something like that." Yngvar extended his hand for help, and Bjorn pulled him up. Straight into a bear hug that lasted longer than Yngvar felt comfortable. When they did part, Bjorn's carefree face had transformed to profound grief.
Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 21