The tavern was full tonight. Most of the crowd was made up of warriors. Usually, such men would gather in the Hall of their Earl. But tonight, they gathered here instead. She had to wonder why and the only way to find out was to go out there among them all.
She took a bowl in each hand and headed out of the kitchen. It was a gamble. She was dressed in a fine cotton dress, her hair loose and falling down her back. No one who had seen her at the King’s feast would recognize her now. She was a woman, not a warrior. But she was careful to keep her face turned away, and the knife tucked in her boot made her feel safer.
She put bowls in front of two of the warriors and tried to blend into the shadows. But she wasn’t able to hear well enough, so she moved a bit closer.
“Ah, what a woman!” One of the warriors smiled and grabbed her backside.
She resisted the temptation to make a eunuch of him and quickly ran back into the kitchen as the bawdy laughter of the warrior followed her. Being out there was too risky. She would have to find out what she needed to know through other means.
She gave Inge a warm smile as she washed the empty bowls. “You have such a fine tavern, Inge. So many brave warriors feel at home in your care. Does the Earl ever come here?”
Inge took a sip of mead. “Mm, it’s good enough. And it’s mine. Yes, quite often. But the Earl is in bed right now. Terrible plague.”
“I see. What a shame. I hear his daughter is to be married.” Fljótdís put the washed bowls aside.
If Inge was telling her the truth, she had made this trip for nothing and everyone at home would ridicule her as a fool, or worse. Maybe Harald was right, there was no trick. Ulfson was ill. It had become an obsession in her mind, an obsession that could be her downfall. Had she really read all the signs wrong? She eyed her old clothes on a chair nearby. Maybe if she left now, she could get home before anyone noticed she had left. The door leading into the Hall swung open as the servers went through.
“For the gods will feast tonight seeing the bloodshed of our enemies!” a loud toast came from the Hall.
These words made Fljótdís freeze in place. It was just a foolish toast, of course, the kind men made when they were lost in their cups. But this sounded too specific, too purposeful. She turned to Inge with a look of mild curiosity.
“Bloodshed?”
Inge’s smile lacked warmth. “The braying of drunken men. We know better than to listen, don’t we?”
But these men were not drunk. No matter what Inge said, most of them refused offers to fill their cups. Something was wrong. She felt it. And yet there was nothing unnatural. She heard the men stand up as one.
“Come my brothers! It is time! It’s a long ride!” one of them shouted.
It was all she could do to maintain a calm smile and wait for Inge and the serving girls to go into the Hall to clean up. She dashed through the back door.
What she saw now was her every nightmare come true. At the Earl’s Great Hall, the warriors were assembled carrying torches, waiting for something. They held their horses’ reins at the ready. On the Hall’s threshold stood a tall man in a cape as black as the night herself. Her heart nearly stopped. It was Earl Ulfson in the best of health, fully armed and ready. It was clear that he thought of himself as more of a king than an earl at this moment. His words could be heard throughout the village.
“Tonight, we will teach King Harald a lesson. We will attack when he least expects it. And this time we are not alone. Torvaldson’s men will join us at the crossroads. Tonight we will change history! Tonight we will impress the gods!”
So there it was. They were preparing to attack Harald’s town in the middle of his wedding night. She felt a moment of panic. She was too far to warn everyone. And if there was another group of men waiting at the crossroads... This was impossible.
She needed a plan. But she couldn’t get her mind to focus.
“Bjorna!” a voice called to her from inside the tavern. Inge was searching for her.
Staying as low as she could, she sneaked to the stables. There was no time to go back to the copse to get her own horse. She just prayed there would be one animal left in the barn.
The barn was in darkness and the only horse she found would not have been her first choice. There was no time to hunt for a saddle. She retrieved her sword from the haystack where she had hidden it before the feast. But then she froze. Someone else was in the barn. She lowered her hand to her sword’s hilt cautiously. It was too dark to see who it was, but it was no friend.
“I knew I’d seen you somewhere.” The man’s laugh was loud and coarse. “Put the sword down, Fljótdís, and maybe I’ll let you live.”
She hesitated. She should have killed him quickly and without thought, but now it was too late. Another mistake. Her attacker grabbed her hair, yanking her head back painfully. The edge of a cold blade touched her neck. He pressed the knife against her flesh harder and she felt a small stream of blood trickle downward.
Maybe she could still talk her way out of this. “You have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Bjorna.”
“No, little liar, you’re Harald’s spy. I saw you at his feast. But you have come too late. Harald will die tonight.”
“If that is what you believe, then you better kill me now. Because if I am what you say, I am dead anyway.”
It was true. If she could not get back and warn the King, then all would be lost and it would be her failure. She couldn’t live with that. But her death was not a gift she wished to give to this bastard.
He hesitated.
Her body tensed. But instead of death, there came a heavy kick to her back. Then followed another and she collapsed to the ground, clenching her teeth against the pain in the darkness. Another blow stole the breath from her.
“No, I won’t kill you, bitch. I’ll let Ulfson have that pleasure.”
He leaned down to take her sword and in that instant, she sprang with a strength that only adrenaline and rage could provide. She hit him everywhere she knew would hurt a man most, taking him utterly by surprise and causing him to yelp in pain.
It was a battle in total darkness, and it was complete chaos. She kicked, punched and bit him in the ways of a Berserker, without sanity or mercy. She had to live, not just for herself, but for everyone she cared about. This was a battle to the death and the animals in the barn reacted with calls of panic.
But more than the battle against this man, she felt as if she were fighting a much bigger adversary. This was a war against Death itself. All would be lost if she failed to defeat this enemy. She was not going to lose.
The man swung wildly in the blackness. Some of those hits caused her great pain, but she didn’t let herself think about that now. Something sharp cut through her left palm and she felt the warm wetness of her own blood pool in her hand. She kicked out with all her strength and this time, she was very successful.
Her attacker cried out sharply and she used the opportunity to retrieve the knife from her boot. She thrust forward and up with all her strength, stabbing again and again. The man howled in agony and she hoped to the gods that no one was hearing this. She couldn’t defeat all of those men outside, or even a single one, spent as she was now.
He grew silent. But Fljótdís continued to stab until she collapsed near him, breathing hard. She had to be sure that it was over.
She trembled from head to toe, overtaken with pain and blood and darkness. Her heart pounded and everything was in a black fog. If felt like the world was far in the distance and the idea of simply drifting away was almost irresistible. All she had to do was close her eyes and be done with it all.
But the sound of a terrified horse brought her back up to the surface. For reasons she could not explain, she felt strength run in her veins again. It was time to stand up. Her knees trembled and she felt sick to her stomach, but she fought against the pain as she took a deep breath. It still felt like her heart might explode, but there was no time to worry about it. She stumbled over something
at her feet, her sword. It was a gift from the gods.
In the darkness she found the horse and leaned against the frightened animal.
“Quiet yourself, my friend,” she whispered, caressing its velvety nose. “It’s over now.” She could only hope that was the truth.
She peered through the barn door cautiously, half expecting to find an army of assassins waiting for her. But the village was empty. She looked up at the hills. A parade of torches illuminated the road leading away from the village. This river of fire was moving fast. They would reach her town in the night’s darkest hour. The dawn would rise red with massacre.
She raced out of the Ulfson’s village. A short distance down the road, she glanced at her left palm in the moonlight. A deep cut stretched across it from the top of two fingers to the bottom of the palm. It looked bad, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Her blood stained the reins.
She couldn’t use the road or she would soon catch up to the Earl’s men. The only alternative was to take a rougher route, a short cut. She wasn’t familiar with the local terrain and she could only hope the moon would give her enough warning of obstacles in the way. All it would take was one unseen rabbit hole for the horse to break its leg and all to be lost. She hoped if the gods were not with her, they were with the horse. The horse was surprisingly sound and when she truly saw it in the moonlight, she realized it was the one the Earl had ridden into the village the day of the feast. It was a stroke of luck that he had chosen a different steed for the battle.
She rode through dense forests, crossed a river and a large field, trying to stay away from the other riders as far as she could. At last, the Earl was behind her, but she had nothing to spare.
When she reached the crossroads, her heart sank. A large gathering of men was hiding at the edge of the forest, King Torvaldson’s men. Judging by the torches, it was a great force.
She made her way around them silently and again urged the horse into a full gallop, praying to Aesir and Vanir, that she would arrive in time. She didn’t feel the biting cold, the tiredness, or even the pain of her own body. She just kept moving. That was her only job now, to reach her village and warn everyone. Then the gods could decide what happened to her next.
Ulfson’s force was big, but not invincible. If he attacked the town while it slept, his forces might be devastating. But if Harald gathered his men in time, Ulfson’s warriors could be defeated. It would come at a high price, but there would be a victory.
That damn wedding! She had known something was wrong with it. If she hadn’t opened her big mouth at the council meeting, Ulfson would be dead now. She hoped she could make up for that mistake.
But this was not the time for a guilty conscience or self-pity. This was the time of the battle. As her father had taught her, it was better to die standing strong than to bow to anyone except the King. She was ready for it.
She didn’t care if the King punished her for disobeying. If she reached the town, perhaps tonight she would die well in battle and that would be enough. She had seen a Valkyrie in her dreams last night. In her dream, she had asked to follow her to Valhalla. It could mean only one thing, death.
She could have danced with joy when she saw the town emerge through the mists. All was dark and silent. The celebrations were over. Everyone was sleeping with no suspicion that a large army of enemies was coming to kill them all. What she would have given for a battle horn right now. It would wake up everyone immediately, even from afar. But since she didn’t have that luxury, she had to reach the town quickly.
It was an incredible relief when she reached the gates. But she wanted to break something when she saw that they were open wide. She yelled to the guard, who was fighting off the drunken slumber. Was it possible that this lout was the only one on the watch at this moment? Unthinkable!
“Who are you?” The guard peered at her bleary-eyed with the light of his torch.
“There’s no time for this, you stupid fool! We’re about to be under attack! Where are the other guards? Why isn’t the town protected?”
The young guard struggled in confusion, trying to figure out his best answer and just who the Hel she was. “Attack? No, you have the wrong town. Woman, not so loud, please!”
She swore in frustration, but she saw that there was a battle horn at his belt. She took out her knife and cut it free. Before the guard could protest, she rode into town, yelling at him over her shoulder to close the gates. It hurt terribly, but she raised the horn to her lips and blew it three times. It didn’t take long for people to scramble from their beds and gather in the streets with weapons in their hands.
She came to a halt at the Great Hall. All the servants and guards stood in front of it, waiting for commands. With loud shouts of protest, the King and Ari emerged from the Hall.
“What the Hel is going on?” Harald was beside himself with anger and a painful hangover. But he fell silent when he saw Fljótdís who was barely able to stay on her horse.
Ari rushed to her. “Fljótdís! Gods, what happened to you?”
She looked down at herself. There was blood everywhere and she looked as if she had just returned from Hel’s Halls.
“Everyone, we’re about to be under attack!” She said it loudly enough so that all could hear. “It was all a trick, a trap. Right now Ulfson and his men are riding to destroy us. They will soon be here. We must prepare for the battle. He brings Torvaldson’s army as well.”
The King walked up to Fljótdís and gave her a look of open disbelief. “Under attack? What nonsense is this? How did you do all of this to yourself? The Earl and I have an agreement. There has been a marriage to seal it.”
“Ulfson spits on your agreement.” Her words were too harsh, but she had nothing to lose now and time was running out. “My King, I was there in their village. Ulfson gathered his men. I rode as fast as I could. And now they are nearing the outskirts of our town. We must gather our warriors. Please, my lord. We have no time!”
“How can I believe all of this, Fljótdís?”
She returned his condemning look evenly as a trail of blood ran down her neck. “Would I have returned here if I had been wrong?”
The King considered this for only an instant before giving the order to gather everyone who was able to fight.
“How many are there?”
The King started to offer his hand as she struggled to dismount, but he thought better of it. She was a warrior, and she had proven it again, even if it was at the cost of disobedience.
“At least a hundred, my lord, forty of the Earl’s men, the rest Torvaldson’s.”
“You disobeyed me...” Harald started, but Ari interrupted him.
“Lord, with your permission, it’s not the right time. We must prepare ourselves.”
The King nodded reluctantly and went inside to prepare for the battle.
On their own at last, Ari truly took in Fljótdís’ torn and bloody appearance.
“What happened?”
“I battled with Death tonight, and with the help of the gods, I defeated it.”
He gave her a look of concern as if the loss of blood might have also robbed her of her mind. “Go inside, now. The servants will take care of your wounds.”
She gave him a long look that only left him with more reason for concern and went inside. But she avoided the servants. She quickly went to the barracks and found her leather armour. She wasn’t ready to watch others fight this battle, staying in safety with women and children. No, this was her fight, her hour of glory.
She bound her wounds swiftly and changed into her battle gear. The attack was almost upon them. With a knife at her belt and another one in her boot, she grabbed her sword and went out into the Hall again.
There she ran into a young woman who was dressed in nothing but a nightgown. She looked so fragile and terrified that at first Fljótdís thought her to be lost child. But she was no child. She was the new Queen. Tears ran down Astrid’s pale cheeks.
“Please, wh
at is happening? No one will tell me.”
She felt pity for this woman, but there was no point in not telling her the truth now. “Your father is attacking us.”
If it was possible, she grew even paler. “My father? But surely you are mistaken. There was an agreement, you see. And the wedding...”
“That was all a lie.” She withdrew the knife from her belt and pressed into the hand of the Earl’s daughter. “Hide in a safe place. Use this to save your life.”
Astrid stared at the knife in her small hand. “I’m not sure if I can use this.”
“Then someone will most likely murder you, my lady, one of ours or one of yours. Go hide, quickly. And don’t come out until you’re sure it’s all over. May the gods be with you and with us all.”
The sound of battle horns shattered the air as the guards rushed to close all of the entrances.
Fljótdís came to stand next to the warriors who were gathered in front of the Hall. The King and Ari stood before them, shouting orders. She took a look around. The men were ready. Thank the gods she had arrived in time. This would be a bloody battle, but now their chances were as good as their enemy’s. She had to hold on to that idea.
Ari scowled at her, his arms crossed in disapproval. “What are you doing?”
She gave him a look of open defiance. “I didn’t ride all this way to be left out. I am here to fight, to do my duty.”
It was obvious that he wanted to protest with every bone in his body, maybe even throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of harm’s way before it was too late. Such was his love for her. But this was about a bigger kind of love, and instead of objecting, he nodded. Even so, when Fljótdís climbed on her horse again, he grabbed her arm.
“Be careful.”
She smiled at him. “Being careful doesn’t win battles, Ari.”
He didn’t return her smile. “Maybe not. But I want you to live to fight many battles, Fljótdís. For you, Valhalla can wait.”
Fljótdís watched him leap into the saddle next to her. He was father, brother, guardian, teacher and dearest of friends to her. And in her mind, he was immortal. If Valhalla had to wait for anyone, it was for Ari.
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 10