Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1)

by Jerry Autieri

  Once again, he was at the mercy of another, and from what he knew of these people, they loved war and murder as much as Erik. Whatever awaited them over that dull horizon was likely to be violence and doom.

  They sailed directly toward it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Yngvar had no hazel branch to wave, so he grabbed the driest cloak he could find and waved it from the prow. The branch was a universal sign of surrender, but he improvised. He had all shields placed on the racks and his crew assemble at the center of the deck. He alone hung over the neck of the prow waving until his arms felt about to drop into the ocean. Across the choppy water, two high-side ships glided with an imperiousness that made Yngvar wonder if they were escorting Odin himself.

  Their hulls were dark, and their racks were ominously devoid of shields. Fat, square sails of white and red pulled the massive ships toward them. Yngvar's arms were still heavy from rowing, and waving a damp cloak only worsened it.

  "How many men do you count?" Thorfast shouted to him.

  "Enough to fill both decks. Were you thinking of giving a fight after all?"

  "I wouldn't bother with numbers like that. I only fight when there's a challenge to be won."

  The crew laughed, nervously and perhaps forced, but it brought a genuine smile to Yngvar. He nodded to his white-haired friend. Bjorn, standing next to him, frowned. He detested surrender and his repugnance couldn't be more obvious in his folded arms and bent mouth. That too made Yngvar smile. His mad cousin probably would dive into a deck thick with enemy spears, and the gods would love him and carry him to glory. But not today.

  The two ships flanked either side of their sinking ship. Though they had rowed and bailed ceaselessly, the ship had now sunk ever closer to the water line. Had they not made for Norway as straight as an arrow, they would have sunk at sea. That much had resigned his crew to their fates. It was as good as being blown ashore by the storm.

  The enemy crew lined the rails, bows strung and arrows ready, but none were raised. A thin man with a beard as dark as night hopped up to the rail, steadying himself on the yardarm.

  "Ho, strangers. Your ship is sinking beneath your feet."

  By the gods, not another sarcastic bastard. Was this banter a custom in the north?

  "And I thought the sea was rising," Yngvar shouted back. "My thanks for your keen observation, friend."

  The ship pulled closer, and the boarding hooks were already in evidence along the rail. The other ship had slid across the opposite flank, staying at the edge of bow shot. It was both a precaution and a nod toward a peaceful meeting.

  "Are we to be friends?" asked the dark-bearded man. "I think we shall be more like the victors and you the captured."

  "Call us what you will," Yngvar shouted. "We have sailed far and with urgent news for your jarl."

  Black-Beard paused at the claim. He spoke to an unseen man on deck, then turned back.

  "What is my jarl's name?"

  Yngvar shrugged. "I don't know him. He will want the news I carry. We surrender to you. So do what you must, but take us to your jarl straight away."

  The boarding hooks and ropes flew from the other ship. Yngvar's crew helped the captors tie to their ship, attempting to demonstrate they did not want a fight. By the time Black-Beard had stepped over the rails to formally meet Yngvar, the enemy's posture relaxed. Bows lowered and shield were racked.

  They exchanged half of Yngvar's crew to the other ship, and those left aboard under a new command were to continue bailing. The two ships escorted them to the coast.

  It was as beautiful a land as Yngvar had heard described. The fjord was narrow and deep, flanked by heavy cliffs and mighty peaks all carpeted in green. The flat light made it easy to see how lush this land was compared with the barren landscapes of the Hebrides and Scotland. He inhaled the deep, earthy scents that mingled with the salt of the ocean. Gliding at peace through the fjord, he knew the satisfaction his ancestors had experienced in this place. How had they ever left such a magnificent land?

  The coastal village where they disembarked was just like his father's. The people spoke with the same accent as his father, and their bright and curious eyes were the soft blues and hazels of his people. He was one of them, even if his mother had been a Frisian. Here was his true blood.

  "Not much to look at, is it?" Bjorn said as they stood on the beach waiting for the rest of the crew to gather with them. "Couple a shitty houses, mountains, air as damp as a fat man's crotch."

  "I'm not going to ask why you know how damp a fat man's crotch is." Thorfast now joined them, having finished the voyage on their ship. He rubbed his arms, which must have been sore from all the bailing. "I think this place looks peaceful. The people here seem safe."

  "Well, with huge ships patrolling their coast, why not?" Bjorn's frown deepened. "Bastards probably don't know which end of the sword to hold."

  Yngvar watched strong men leaping from their ships to join arms with family. These were not overprotected people, but simply recognized the weakness of Yngvar's own crew against their defenses.

  Black-Beard found Yngvar once everyone had been assembled and all the ships were beached. "Your weapons are in our care for now. The jarl will decide whether they're returned to you."

  The main settlement lay further inland, accessed by a forest track. After half a year in the barren lands of hard-scrabble islands, he enjoyed being enfolded by boughs of orange, red, and yellow leaves. They marched at a leisurely pace. Though they were captives, this felt nothing like being a prisoner of Erik Blood-Axe. He felt more like an unwelcome guest that had inconvenienced his host.

  The mead hall was old, settled upon a low rise where the trees had been cleared of stumps all around it. The thatch was still golden, indicating care was given to the structure. Guards stood by opened doors and welcomed their companions. They gave wry looks to Yngvar and the others, nodding as if they understood more than they shared.

  Black-Beard led Yngvar into the dim light of the hall beyond. "Kar Gellirsson is the name of my jarl, since you could not name him earlier. He's a generous and kind man, but he's no fool. Choose your words wisely."

  Yngvar tipped his head to Black-Beard's advice. He thought Black-Beard might have been called Haf by his friends, but with so many strange faces surrounding him he remained unsure.

  The hall itself was a single room, and Jarl Kar did not seem to make this his residence. The long room was dominated with all the familiar accoutrements of daily life: a long hearth with glowing embers, looms and baskets stowed against the walls, tables and benches pushed aside when out of use, animal bones and scraps littered the corners of the room. Hirdmen were strong and proud, wearing their swords in the hall with peace straps tied. They regarded Yngvar with a mix of mirth and skepticism. They were all like grown uncles giving reproachful looks to their young nephews.

  "Ah, Haf, I've not had a moment to prepare for you. Your messengers barely arrived."

  The man who spoke must have been Jarl Kar Gellirsson. Yngvar could not imagine a less underwhelming appearance for a jarl. He was easily the shortest man in the hall and built like a fat pine cone. His long hair was as wiry wool that had been wet and then dried in the sun. It was a stale brown color, and gray mixed in it. His mournful, cloudy eyes rested in double bags of flesh and his jowls flopped loosely. A dark mole sprouted a hair at his cheek.

  Yet Haf Black-Beard knelt before this man. "We captured these men at sea, my lord. They claim to have sailed far to bring you news, yet they could not name you."

  Kar nodded, then waddled to his seat. The size of the chair swallowed him into shadow, but his smile was clear. He waved Haf to his feet and then gestured for Yngvar to approach. "So you've traveled far in a sinking ship to bring news to me. I'm impressed. What is your name?"

  "Yngvar Hakonsson," he said, dipping his head in respect. "You will not have heard of me, but you will want to hear my news."

  "So what is this news you've risked so much to deliver just to m
e?" Kar's dog-eyes glittered in the low light. He seemed amused, and Yngvar did not know why.

  He glanced to Thorfast and Bjorn, then Alasdair. All of them watched him rather than the jarl, as if what he said next was more important than anything else. Perhaps it was.

  "We have fled from Erik Blood-Axe."

  Mention of Erik's name drew every eye and every scowl in the room. Kar Gellirsson sucked his teeth at the mention and grimaced as if he had stepped on a rock with his bare foot. The revulsion gave Yngvar pause. He had everyone's attention, but not in the way he had desired. He pushed on.

  "We were Erik's hostages until we stole back our ship and escaped. In truth, we did not know where exactly we sailed. We knew the coast of Norway had to be warned. For Erik Blood-Axe has raised a fleet to attack his brother, Hakon the Good."

  The reaction was not what he wanted. Kar's expression had shifted from amusement to interest to suspicion. He now looked down his fat nose at Yngvar, his baggy eyes hooded with doubt. He rubbed his chin with his thick fingers.

  "Is that the extent of your news?" he asked. Yngvar blinked, then nodded. Kar glanced at the men surrounding him, a frown deepening into the lines of his cheeks. "Well, when is this attack coming?"

  "He did not say when," Yngvar said. "But he will not delay. He has hired mercenaries to supplement his forces. They must be paid and he has no wealth to keep them all summer."

  "You know the condition of his wealth, but not the timing of his battle plans?" Kar leaned back in his chair. "Now that's odd."

  "Well, I guess at his wealth. We spent all summer raiding for slaves which he sold to pay for this attack. So it cannot be long in coming."

  "How many ships will he bring? Will he bring them here?"

  Realizing he must appear to be shrinking before the jarl, Yngvar stood straighter to impart more authority to his news. "I do not have the exact count, but he has thirty ships at his command. More can be taken from those sworn to him. His plans are to scour the coast and teach his brother a lesson. That is what he said."

  "It's a long coast, if you haven't noticed. There are some places better to attack than others, and some places are hard to reach but would be fat prizes. Can you tell me if he has indicated anything at all?"

  "We were not so close to him," Yngvar said. His cheeks felt hot and he wondered if his frustration was showing. "The very fact that he did not bother to pursue us tells me Erik is preparing to launch this attack soon. You should be ready to meet him, at sea if you can, for he would be easily divided and driven off on the water. Once ashore, his men would be emboldened to fight with no chance to escape failure."

  Kar folded both his hands over his prodigious belly. He licked his lips slowly as he appeared to be reviewing what he knew against what Yngvar had revealed. "So you are escaped hostages? Where are you from?"

  "We come from Frankia, and that is where we seek to return. My father is a jarl of some standing in those lands, and Erik was considering our ransom before we fled him."

  Kar tapped the side of his nose with his finger, letting his gaze wander over the crew. "What would you ask of me, now that I've heard your warnings?"

  "Let us repair the storm damage to our ships, then allow us safe passage to the extent of your power. We only seek to return home and leave this conflict behind us."

  The hall remained silent as Kar narrowed his eyes at Yngvar and his crew. He continued to tap the side of his nose as he considered, then at last he leaned forward to speak.

  "I don't know what to believe. Erik has sent spies before with similar tales."

  Yngvar blinked at the assertion and his stomach tightened. Kar seemed to be convincing himself of his choice as he spoke, his voice growing louder and more confident.

  "He sends men in poor ships, ones he cares not to lose, and gathers what he can from the jarls of the coast. You are exactly that."

  "I'm no friend of Erik Blood-Axe," Yngvar said, the anger in his voice matching the suspicion in Kar's. He reached to pull over his shirt, but the erstwhile peaceful hirdmen charged at him with a half-dozen naked swords poised around his torso. "I mean only to show you how he treated me. Look at my back."

  But the swords did not lower, and one cold tip dug into his abdomen. Kar remained frowning.

  "Take them away until I know what to do," he said, waving his hand as if extinguishing a candle flame.

  "Let me show you how he whipped me," Yngvar shouted. "We are not his spies. I'd kill him if I had the chance."

  "So would I," Kar said. "Now get from my hall."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Yngvar spent his days at the door of the building where they remained imprisoned. The structure smelled strongly of sheep, though no traces of animals had been left behind. It was a simple prison of pallets, dirt floor, and a hearth. They had to urinate against the far wall, worsening the stench inside the dark single room building. Thankfully guards escorted men to latrines when needed, which had been more than Erik ever did. Still, Yngvar rested by the door and peered through the crack to see who was beyond. Sometimes the guards would speak to him through the door.

  "You'll never fit between that crack, no matter how hard you try." Thorfast sat on a pallet beside the door. At least in this room there was enough space for all eighteen of his men to sleep on their own.

  "No one is out there now, I think."

  Bjorn, who sat opposite, stood up. "Really? So maybe we can break the door down and run."

  "That idea doesn't get any better the tenth time you say it," Thorfast said.

  Ander Red-Scar and the others mostly spent their time lying down and watching the ceiling. They had been three days into this imprisonment. Boredom and frustration were starting to build among the men. Alasdair, being the smallest of all, had taken been struck several times by men short on patience. It wouldn't be long before they were at each other's throats. One of the guards had been kind enough to leave them with bone dice. It had occupied their minds for a short time, but was not enough to pacify the growing restlessness. Bursting through the door might be their only hope before they killed each other.

  "Well, I've been waiting for Yngvar the Great-Thinker to come up with a plan. But he's more interested in kissing the door than getting us out of here."

  "We don't have many great choices," Yngvar said. "If we burst out the door, we'll be cut down before we get anywhere useful. Do you think we're going to steal a ship and sail off? We were lucky enough to do that once. The best we can hope is to flee into the countryside. Eventually we'll be rounded up again, but some might slip away. But how will a single man survive alone out here? Winter is coming, and I don't want to think of what that's like this far north."

  Bjorn frowned and flopped back onto his pallet. Thorfast pulled his knees up to his chin and sat in silence. Yngvar felt the men staring at him. They had come to rely on him for daring plans that pulled victory from defeat. He had started to believe himself capable of it, too. Yet he was just a man, one who had a short run of luck.

  "Wait, the guards are coming back," Yngvar said, pressing his eye to the gap in the door. Two men flitted in and out of his field of view until finally they were both poised before the door.

  "Hey, where did you go?" Yngvar said, rattling the bolted door. The guard to his right answered, his voice muffled.

  "I'll wager you'll be happy to know that Alrik Vigisson has arrived with news."

  The name meant nothing to him, but the prospect of news raised his hopes. "What news? Has Erik's fleet attacked?"

  The guards did not answer immediately. The one of the right eventually spoke. "I'm not sure I can tell you more. Kar will want to see you again, though, I'm sure."

  Rather than speculate on what the guard meant, Yngvar sat down beside Thorfast. All eyes looked expectantly at him, but he said nothing. Why get anyone's hopes up when so much remained unclear? He simply closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. An opportunity was forming, and he had to remain open to any advantage.

  Not long
after, the bolt on the door shook and light flooded the room. Guards in mail and shield entered, short swords drawn in case anyone thought of jumping at them. Unarmed and unarmored, Yngvar and his crew were not yet suicidal enough to attack, no matter what the enemy thought.

  "You and three men you pick," said the lead man, pointing at Yngvar, "come with us."

  Within moments Yngvar, Thorfast, Bjorn, Alasdair, and Ander Red-Scar were standing outside their prison and surrounded by a dozen armored men. No one protested Ander's inclusion. Maybe they considered Alasdair too small to be a full man. They did not threaten them, but just began herding them toward Kar's hall. No one spoke, and Yngvar searched his friends' nervous faces. He met each of their eyes and gave a short nod. This was the hand of the gods at work, he was certain, and he had nothing to fear. Kar would've killed them or enslaved them by now. Something else had stayed his hand.

  Kar's ancient hall was surrounded by scores of men in chain shirts and glinting, dented helmets. Their low voices were like the hum of bees from a distance. The sun peered through dark clouds to cut their hard faces with deep shadow. As their guards led them through the mix, these men gave inscrutable stares as they passed. Inside the hall, more of their number filled wall to wall. The humidity and warmth of so many men was like a wall pressing against Yngvar's face. A thick haze of hearth smoke covered the room, and squat Kar Gellirsson sat on his chair at the far end.

  Only another chair was placed next to his, and an older, stronger man sat upon it. Here was Alrik Vigisson, Yngvar guessed. Bulging arms coiled with gold armbands showed beneath the hem of a sparkling chain shirt. His hair was as light as Thorfast's, only of pure white versus the pale gold cast to Thorfast's. His mustache hung well past his beard and had gold beads tied into it. His hooded eyes swept the room to Yngvar the moment he entered.

  "As requested, lord," said their lead guard after shoving through to the front. "These men claim they are from Erik Blood-Axe himself."

  Kar's face went sour, as if he had bit into a rotten apple. The as-yet unnamed Alrik shifted in his seat to face Yngvar.