by M. K. Hume
“You’re young, and barely a man, Arthur, but it’s time we had a serious discussion about your future because it’s time for you to put off all your more childish habits. Don’t stiffen up on me, lad, for I’d like to speak to you as if I were an older brother . . .”
Stormbringer coughed awkwardly in embarrassment.
“You’re the best hand-to-hand warrior I’ve ever seen, Arthur. I’m not just flattering you. You’re a master with those twin blades of yours, and you have all the natural skills of a born leader. I can assure you that my men would already follow you if I were to pass on—except for the fact that you don’t trust yourself.”
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Stormbringer brushed his complaints aside. “I understand that your father’s death left large boots to fill. I know better than you imagine, for my father was a legendary swordsman, a genius on a ship, and universally loved by all who served with him. Yet he saw nothing in color, so he existed in a half-blind state that ranged from black through to white. As a child, I was sure I could never hope to earn a name for myself. Not like him!”
What was there for Arthur to say in response to his friend’s truth?
“You see every mistake you make as proof that you’re a failure. You paralyze yourself by thinking and talking endlessly about your perceived weaknesses. I’ve watched you analyze every simple flaw, real or imagined, since we first met. I’ve told myself that you would grow out of these mannerisms, but you need guidance in how you must plan your life, if you ever hope to see Britain again.”
“That’s my problem, Stormbringer! I’ve been living with the certainty that I’ll never see it again, and my father and my mother will die without me. I know that Arden Forest will be lost to the Saxons and burned for charcoal, all the people I have loved will grow old and forget me, while I will dwindle, become old, and ultimately die. I can easily remain a landless beggar once my strong arms and legs begin to fail me, if I survive at all.”
Stormbringer laughed, riotously and hurtfully.
“I can see I appear amusing to you, my lord, so I’ll leave you if I’m such a figure of fun.”
Suddenly, Stormbringer slapped Arthur with his open hand across the face. The young man gasped with the shock of the unexpected blow, and his furious eyes blazed like burning ice.
“Such masterly self-pity! If you were a priest, you’d need a whip that would allow you to flagellate yourself. You Britons amaze me sometimes! If you don’t like the situation, do something about it.”
Arthur gnashed his teeth with fury, but Stormbringer was far from done with him.
“Has it occurred to you that talent, rather than birth, is everything to the Dene people? You too can become a man of wealth with ships and wide acres, and good men will follow you wherever you lead. You can build your own ships and sail back to Britain like a king. If you wish, you can carve out your own kingdom from the British lands that are now ruled by the Saxons. Why not?”
This time, Arthur was unable to find the words of protest needed. His mind was filled with the prospects that Stormbringer had described, so he was dizzy with a sudden rush of blood to his brain.
“What are you thinking, Arthur?” Stormbringer’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“My dreams, my friend! I’m wishing that all you describe might come to be.”
“If you wish it, so it will. Did you doubt the words of the wisewoman, Freya, who said you’d become the King of Winter? I don’t, and I believe fervently that you will become a great king in Britain because that is what your heart desires. Now, sleep for what remains of the darkness because you might not get another chance.”
Some two days later, the Vagus River made its presence obvious by a brown stain on the blue waters. Although the Vagus wasn’t a large river, it was strong and deep, and swept from the inland lake through fertile lands until it reached the waters of the western sea. Arthur plucked a small pine branch from the floodwaters and, although the sharp, spiny foliage was waterlogged, the bough brought the scent of sap with it, as familiar as the smell of his mother’s hair.
If Stormbringer is right, I can return to Britain like a king, Arthur thought. I need to determine that I will win a name for myself, collect a following of good warriors, and then purchase a ship with the rewards of the victories that will surely come to us. If all goes well, I will smell the pines of Arden, hold my mother in my arms, and once again become a complete man.
As one, the fleet turned and the ships veered to the north, just beyond sight of land.
“Do we disembark to the south of the river, or do we beach the ships and make a direct attack?” Eamonn asked with an eager smile on his face. His eyes flashed with the excitement of the coming conflict.
“No! We’ll beach our ships north of the river in a place that will ensure our vessels can be guarded and kept safe. Then, on foot, we’ll attack Olaus Healfdene’s troops, who are keeping Leif and his warriors confined in their encampment on the Vagus. Next, in company with Leif and the remnants of his force, we will take to our ships to attack the main body of Olaus’s army at Västergötland. He won’t be expecting an attack at this early stage in his campaign, especially from the river. We’ll sail upstream as far as we dare, and then beach our ships. Again, we’ll need to select a well-protected landing spot, because we’ll need our longboats to sail south to those places where we can teach Olaus’s allies in southern Skania that they must keep to their own borders. Our ships must remain safe and undamaged, so their protection is paramount to any tactical decisions we make during the course of the battles.”
“Where will this second battle be fought then?” Eamonn persisted, with little lights dancing in his eyes like small red fires.
“You’re very eager, my friend, and you’ll become a berserker if you’re not careful.” The Sae Dene captain smiled. “It’s my intention to take the fleet upstream until we reach Myrkvidr, which is deep in Vaster Gortland, the land of the Geats. We’ll make our attack at a place where the Dene infiltration and settlement is negligible. Do you understand why, Arthur?”
“No one ever asks me,” Eamonn interrupted, grinning; Stormbringer was left confused by the odd sense of humor of these Britons.
“Hush, Eamonn,” Arthur responded. “I think I see your reasoning, Stormbringer, but correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Go on then, Arthur! We still have some time before we’ll need to muffle our oars and maintain complete silence.”
“To attack the Geats in an area where they consider themselves to be completely secure will give us an unexpected tactical advantage. Considering the fact that the Dene, the Geats, and the men of Noroway are all closely related by blood, there’s a strategic gain in defeating the Geat forces at a time when the Dene position in Skania in the south is so parlous.”
“That’s all true,” Stormbringer agreed equably.
“The Dene forces in Skania are demoralized and more than half defeated already. Normally, they would fight to the last man for every foot of land, but not only has Hrolf Kraki deserted them and left them to the mercy of their enemies, but his name was used to betray them. Only a stunning victory will rouse them from the torpor of defeat. With luck and good planning, our counteroffensive will be successful before the Geats have even commenced the second wave of their aggression. Is that assessment true?”
“Absolutely!”
Arthur felt pleased with himself.
“Of course, we must defeat them comprehensively if we’re to gain the ascendancy that we need. There must be few survivors, if any, from the forces of our enemy.”
“This Myrkvidr, Captain! What an ugly name! It must mean something particularly unpleasant,” Eamonn put in.
“You would call it ‘Mirk Wood’ in your tongue; it means a murky, dark, or black forest, and it’s not a place where you’d really like to be unless you had good reason. In the summer, Lake Wener is very beauti
ful, and the Geat jarls enjoy the pleasures of sin, women, and feasting once their enemies have been crushed. We will attack their encampment from the forest south of the shores of the lake. It’s said to have a dangerous reputation. Unclean things dwell there in a half darkness too thick to be breached, even during the height of summer.”
“A pleasant spot then!” Arthur’s sardonic expression was everything that Stormbringer had hoped for. “Because of its reputation, Olaus Healfdene would never expect an army to arrive out of its depths. A successful commander and strategist will always choose the ground for his battles and will bring his forces as close to his enemy as he possibly can before he is discovered and loses the initiative. That’s what I’d like to do if I were in command!”
“And so do we all—but we must rest now! We sail north to a spot only twenty miles from the Vagus, but we’ll move at speed once we leave the fleet, for who knows if we’ve been seen already? We must be fast, disciplined, and silent. That means no berserker rage from you, young Eamonn!”
Stormbringer’s navigators found a pebbled beach that was just large enough for the beaching of their vessels, so the Sae Dene approached the shore with the caution of men deep inside enemy territory. With a practiced economy, Stormbringer used hand gestures to order a dozen men to create a perimeter before Sea Wife was finally dragged above the high-tide line.
Beyond the pebbled foreshore that was thick with black, bleaching seaweed tossed down by the last high tide, an area of coarse grasses and flowering vines formed a transitional area between the sea and the thick forest. Arthur imagined that this wood of midnight-blue shadows, brooding silence, and deep drifts of pine needles hid enemies behind every tree. Stormbringer hissed out the information that these woods were green and pleasant places in summer, although when winter came and the snow fell in thick drifts, many peasants became frightened of the growling of the frozen branches.
Once the perimeter was established, Stormbringer instructed his jarls to select one hundred men who could be trusted to fight to the death to protect the ships. None of the warriors relished such a task because it promised no spoils, no glory, and scant excitement. With an apologetic grin, Stormbringer asked Vermund to volunteer to lead the hundred.
“I can see from your face, my young fire-eater, that my request doesn’t please you. But I must leave my ships in the hands of a man I can trust. I promise you that you will be part of the fighting when we arrive at Myrkvidr, if you successfully guard my fleet for me. You will not be required to stay behind twice. Remember, we have to rescue Leif, the Sword of Skandia, and his men. If so, we may have to escape at speed and will be relying on these ships. We may be expected when we arrive at the Vagus! If that disaster happens, this duty will be critical for, without the fleet, we’ll be trapped on this beach—and here we’ll rot.”
The silence was deep and ominous while Arthur watched Vermund’s eyes closely. At first, he thought the young man would refuse out of hand, but then Vermund stiffened his back, squared his shoulders, and bowed his head in obedience to his commander.
“I will do as you ask, my Lord Stormbringer. These ships will suffer no harm unless we are all dead. Your ships are safe!”
“I believe you, Master Vermund, and you have my hand on my promise.”
Then Stormbringer and Vermund clasped each other’s wrists in the way of warriors the world over: toe to toe, and eye to eye.
Without delay, the Dene warriors were strung out through the forest with scouts moving ahead and on each side of the main body of warriors to disguise their number and warn of problems before they arose. The main force was organized into independent platoons comprised of ships’ crews under the command of the ship’s captain and officers. Each commander was directly answerable to Stormbringer, who was in overall command of the attack force.
Before they left the dunes above the beach, Stormbringer had stolen the time to hold a conference with the thirty or so officers who would control their crews once the assault began. The strategy chosen for the attack was simple, but its success depended on perfect timing and teamwork.
When the prevailing geographical conditions became fully apparent, Stormbringer decided to divide the force into two groups. Leif was trapped between three distinct bodies of water. The sea approaches couldn’t be traversed, and running at attack speed through dry sand or pebbles was treacherous, exhausting, and foolish, so Stormbringer excluded any attack or escape from the sea and its beaches with no regrets.
The two rivers, the Vagus and its small brackish tributary, were another matter entirely. As the command group observed the lie of the land from the top of a low dune overlooking the Vagus, Stormbringer, his captains, and Arthur stared down at the trap that Olaus had sprung on the Dene imprisoned in their enclave.
The Vagus was broad at its confluence with the sea, but it was spread over a wide area. A smashed path through the dried grass and the low, stunted bushes that could tolerate these salty conditions showed where the Dene warriors had been driven, so Stormbringer was sure that the river, in this section at least, would allow armed men to ford the waters with reasonable safety. Of course, the Geats had set up an encampment that prevented any escape into the north by Leif’s warriors, who had been trapped in the marshes between the two confluences for nearly two months. That any of the Dene defenders were still alive was a miracle in itself.
Across the swamp with its higher ground covered with tents, Stormbringer could see the shallower tributary. All the trees that had grown in this marshy, malodorous, and muddy stretch of waterfront had been cut down for cooking fires. The camp was deceptively quiet, almost deathly still, and Arthur tried to imagine what life would be like, trapped and defeated in a world of dirty water, slimy mud, and minimal supplies of food. The plagues of midges and insects would make life unendurable. With a jolt of horror, Arthur recognized dried meat hanging in the Dene camp. The Dene had been forced to butcher their horses and dry the meat, because they had no use for their beloved beasts, coupled with insufficient food or fresh water to sustain them.
“We must attack from both sides simultaneously,” Stormbringer decided. “The river is deep enough to permit the passage of low-draft vessels, but we may have to swim for it, if we fail in our attack. On the other hand, that tributary is shallow and more mud than sand, because the water is very slow moving. We’ll have to cross the Vagus from upstream where the Geats won’t be expecting us, but it’ll still be a long run to the battle with the besiegers.”
He singled out Frodhi’s captains. “Can you swim the Vagus, run to the enemy positions, and then carry out a successful attack?”
One hard-bitten commander, Halgar, bridled at the question. “My men’s resolve will not be weakened, and no ground will defeat them. My master, Frodhi, sent his best men and his fairest ships in answer to your call, and no man present will outclass Frodhi’s warriors.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say those words,” Stormbringer answered calmly. No trace of irritation at Halgar’s curt response was permitted to show. “At dusk, just before the sun sets and at a time when no one would normally expect an attack, I will light a beacon right here, which will be the signal for the attack to begin on both sides of the rivers. If the fire is on the reverse slope of the dune, you’ll be able to see it from your starting points, while it will be mostly hidden from the Geat positions. With luck, we won’t have to swim unless we are defeated—and I refuse to consider defeat! After all, there are only two hundred of them and near to a thousand of us. If we fail, the clans will sing songs forever of the foolish tactics and stupidity of Valdar Bjornsen. So, my friends, we won’t lose, will we? We will relieve our brothers and then we will strike the Geats where we can really hurt them.”
“Do we take prisoners?” Halgar asked, his mouth pursed in a thin line of determination. Stormbringer thought quickly, as did Arthur, and they both came to the same chill conclusion.
“There will be no
prisoners! We can’t afford the warriors to guard them. Besides, I don’t expect that there’ll be many of Leif’s men left alive and sound. We’ll have problems enough caring for them.”
“You can’t allow any of them to escape and warn Olaus Healfdene that we’re here and hunting,” Arthur added. “Surprise must be everything in this campaign!”
“You’ve heard the Briton,” Stormbringer told Halgar, and was rewarded with a jaundiced smile. “Give no quarter and permit no one to survive.”
“Does that include the women?” Halgar asked.
“If there are women in Healfdene’s group, they’ll be camp followers and shield maidens.” Arthur’s reply was adamant. “They’ll understand the ways of war.”
Stormbringer answered reluctantly. “Kill the women, but there will be no rapine, do you hear me? We’re not barbarians, and I want our people to praise you and your men when they sing of our victory, not compare you to the animals of the wilds. Finally, before you ask, any children who may be present will be spared and given to Leif as slaves. I don’t make war on children!”
So, with the sun on its downward slide into the afternoon, Stormbringer’s forces divided and Halgar led his men into the inky shadows of the trees. When Arthur looked, his sun-dazzled eyes could find no trace of the three hundred men under the dour Halgar’s leadership. All sound from Frodhi’s warriors was lost in the forest, and the entire force had vanished like smoke.
“You and you,” Stormbringer pointed to two of his captains, “secrete yourselves and your men in ambush along the beaches. I can see Olaus’s men attempting to escape in that direction if they have no other choice. But remember—no quarter!”
“Depend on us, Valdar Bjornsen,” the tallest man responded. “No one will escape.”
Stormbringer turned his attention to Arthur. “And you, my friend, take my crew and build me a beacon fire sufficient to be seen by our men, once they have taken up their positions and are awaiting the order to attack.”