Hakon grinned. ‘But if we can get to Lord Sigurr’s party before they are attacked, the mountain men lose the surprise but do not know they have lost it and we can turn the ambush to our advantage. As for the first question, we are always cheerful – well, as cheerful as my Lord Konall ever gets.’
Konall’s reply, cast over his shoulder, was extremely rude. Hakon continued, ‘That is, we are cheerful when we feel we can do something about a problem, especially when our solution involves giving someone a good thrashing. It is just a pity that we do not have time to reach the garrison on the way, but they are billeted up beside the warlord’s hall. We could give the scum a real thumping, then.’
They had reached the room in the basement (they had decided to leave the building by the way that they had entered, rather than try to negotiate what was often, in these buildings, a warren of corridors to reach the main entrance) and the sight of the two bodies – Balki’s with a savage wound from the side of his neck extending diagonally a hand’s span into his chest, and the moustached criminal with the throwing knife embedded in the centre of his chest – Hakon had stayed true to Konall’s instruction – had caused Hakon’s words to sink in slightly slower than normal.
Brann skidded to a halt as realisation struck him. ‘But we can get help,’ he started, but was cut off as Hakon slammed into his back. He picked himself up as Konall wheeled around.
‘What?’
‘The slaves. The galley slaves and crew from Einarr’s ship. If they are held near here, and one would expect that they would have been accommodated close to the docks, surely we could use them.’
Hakon looked at Konall. ‘Are they?’
Konall nodded. ‘They are.’
Hakon grinned. ‘Could we?’
Konall, to Brann’s shock, smiled. ‘We could.’
Chapter 12
As ever, he sensed the knock at the door before it came. Except that, this time, it never came.
The door opened and, unannounced, the servant entered. Older than the normal; much older. At closer glance, even older than he. One he had not seen before. He did not like unanticipated change.
Still, while she performed the same few duties, setting down the pitiful amount of food that now satisfied his mid-day appetite and replacing his ewer with a fresh one, it made no difference. It was safe to say that she was not so pleasant on the eye as those who normally came; it was safe to say that he was equally not so pleasant on the eye, but he could choose not to look at his own image; but it was also safe to say that his days of finding personal use for a woman pleasant on the eye were long past.
But he did not like change, when he knew not the reason for change.
‘It is customary to knock before entering these chambers,’ he said.
His voice was as dusty as the floor, and she moved to pour him water. ‘For what purpose? Do you have the speed of your youth to react in the moment betwixt knock and entry?’
Her voice was as dry as his and he surprised himself by offering her his goblet. She shook her head. ‘I have acquired years beyond even yours, old man, when a mountain lake could not ease the croak in my throat.’
His ire rose again. ‘Know you whom you address, servant?’ he barked.
Unconcerned, she turned away, as if to go. ‘Would I be here if I did not?’
‘So why are you here?’ He was irritated, but this time with himself. His self-control and subtlety had vanished with the question, blurted before his mind could keep pace.
She looked deep into his eyes. ‘For the same reason you are here. Fates are intertwining, as they do beyond the power and ken of man.’
He caught at her arm. ‘Do I know you?’
She lifted away his fingers. ‘If you want it, then it has been so.’
‘Speak clearly that I may understand.’
‘In this moment, you need know this: I am here…’ she left the door ajar ‘…once again.’
He moved to the doorway, but dropped his hand from the latch. For a reason he found himself unable to explain, he could not close the door on her.
****
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Brann looked up at the towering figures of Konall and Hakon for inspiration. ‘Why should they listen to me?’
‘It has to come from you.’ Hakon was adamant, as he had been on their run over to the warehouse that was a temporary home for the crew and galley slaves. ‘Say what you feel.’
Konall nodded. ‘A man who is forced to fight will never truly fight. He is already dead. It can only be their choice. Say it how it is. Give them the choice.’
Brann looked at them then, without further discussion, turned to the men who had fallen silent at the sight of the three blood-spattered boys crashing through the doors. He drew a breath deep into his chest.
‘I am just a boy. I haven’t seen what you have seen, and I haven’t done what you have done. I haven’t sat beside you on the rowing benches for long, but I have sat beside you long enough to know the sort of men you are.
‘There are men out there who are attempting an atrocity. I…’ he looked at the two boys beside him ‘…we have seen what they are capable of, what they have done, and it is beyond the understanding of people like us.
‘The Captain and these warriors with you did not make you slaves. They do not treat you as other masters have treated you. The people of this land did not make you slaves, and they have treated you all with respect since we came here. They have given you food and ale and housed you in comfort. Were you a crew of free men, in all honesty what more could their hospitality have provided?’
‘Women!’ came a cry from the back. Laughter rolled around the room. Hakon coughed pointedly and nudged Brann, but he ignored him and seized the moment.
‘That omission was a hospitable gesture to you as well – the women here are beautiful, there’s no denying it, but they are so formidable that you would soon be at their bidding more than to any slavemaster,’ he grinned, to more amusement among the men. His tone became serious. ‘But there is a throng of these inhuman monsters of men moving now on the leaders of these people, leaders who are hopelessly unaware and outnumbered. Should they be massacred, the ordinary people of this place, people who have done nothing to deserve this fate, men like us and women,’ he smiled, ‘more formidable than us would be in the thrall of the engineers of horrors we cannot imagine. It is not right. If we could stop it, surely we would.’
He looked around their faces. ‘But we can. We have weapons here. If these men are willing,’ he looked at Cannick, who nodded without hesitation, ‘we can move as one group to help these people. We can do the right thing. Alone or with any of you who are willing, we three will go to do what we can. But a friend told me that a man who is forced to fight will never truly fight, so I can only ask.
‘So I ask: will you come with us? Will you fight with us? I…’ The reality of talking to these hardened men swept over him and he felt small and exposed. He spread his hands. ‘I would be grateful.’
There was no resounding roar, no stamping of feet or pounding of fists. But in the silence, one man stood, stepped forward and nodded. Another followed, and several more before Brann was suddenly aware that every man was on his feet. And looking at him.
He turned to Cannick. ‘I think we need to look out some weapons.’ Cannick’s grin was all the confirmation his men needed.
The ship’s stores, of all kinds, had been transferred for security reasons to the upper storey of the building and with the help of the two guards from Yngvarrsharn’s militia who had been left with the ship’s company, the arming of the slaves was finished quickly. Konall looked at Brann.
‘What do you propose? How will we use them?’
As Brann gathered his thoughts, Cannick coughed politely for attention. Without acknowledging the incredulous sight of the local warlord’s nephew relying on a youthful galley slave for advice on how to approach a military situation, he said, ‘If I may suggest one thing, young lord, we might be better to
discuss our approach as we move, given the urgency of the situation.’
Konall’s eyes blazed. It had not been easy for him to alter an entire childhood’s attitude towards dealing with people, and he just managed to stop himself from snapping a furious retort at the veteran warrior. Then the fire in his gaze subsided. He nodded.
‘You are right. Let us leave.’ He checked the padding strapped to the wound where he had pulled the knife from his shoulder, swept his cloak behind him dramatically, and strode out through the doorway.
Brann smiled.
As the party moved from the warehouse at a fast jog, Konall moved beside Cannick. ‘You do not find it odd that I should ask a slave for advice?’
Cannick’s eyes widened in a good show of astonishment. ‘Lord Einarr’s page: a slave?’ He saw the look on Konall’s face, and grunted, ‘You know, then. And if you are asking him for advice, despite knowing his true position, then clearly it matters not that you know.’ He ran a heavy, calloused hand over his close-cropped grey hair. ‘And, no, I do not find it particularly odd. Every good commander has learned early on to use all of the talents and strengths at his disposal, no matter what – or who – they may be.’
Konall nodded. ‘I was taught that lesson in the mountains earlier this month.’ He looked at Cannick. ‘By the one whose advice I would now seek.’ He looked ahead again, and took a deep breath, as if launching into something he found hard to say. ‘I would also welcome any suggestions you may have, should you feel our actions are folly.’
Cannick’s eyes were also fixed on the road ahead. ‘If you, as the highest ranking noble commanding this party, issue orders, regardless of who supplied the logic for those orders, I will obey without question. To do otherwise would be to destroy the cohesion and the ability to act quickly of a military unit.’ As a student of such matters, Konall nodded his agreement. ‘If, however, something occurs to me that may assist you in your decision, and if the time is suitable for such a suggestion, I will be happy to offer it to you.’
Konall nodded. ‘Appreciated,’ he said, and moved forward to join Brann at the front of the rapidly moving column. Hakon moved to follow him, but paused beside Cannick. ‘Very carefully put,’ he observed. ‘You should think about a career as a diplomat once you grow too old for all this running about.’
Cannick’s reply left him in no doubt about his view of diplomats, and dispelled the possibility of that career move. He did, however, stare thoughtfully at the small figure ahead of him.
Konall had reached that small figure. ‘You have had time to think. Tell me.’
Brann spoke between heavy breaths. He was not a natural runner, and the exertions of the night and the lack of sleep were taking their toll.
‘As far as I can see,’ he started, ‘there are two parts of this – our approach to the place where it will all happen, and what will happen when it does all happen, if you see what I mean. As far as getting there is concerned, speed is the important bit. There is no need for quiet, as the mountain men may be moving anyway and unlikely to hear us, and if they are already in position and do hear us, it may distract them and give the warlord’s party some extra time or warning, either of which would be good. So we should try to get there as fast as we can – to be honest, I think too much time has already passed to reach them before the attack begins. So we have to arrive as soon afterwards as we can, for obvious reasons.’
Konall nodded. ‘If we do get there before any attack, we will be at the disposal of the warlord, so we do not need to worry about what we do in that case. But what if we do not?’ He held up his hand to pause Brann. ‘Wait. I want someone else to hear this.’ He waved Cannick forward, then gestured for Brann to continue.
Slightly nervous in front of this growing, and more knowledgeable, audience, Brann forced himself to resume. ‘If we try to hit them hard and fast from, as much as we can, the opposite side from the warlord’s party’s position, they will not know which way to turn.’ Konall nodded, and moved to speak to Cannick, but Brann spoke again. ‘No, wait. There is more. If we hit them as a single bunch – I am sorry I do not know the military term for it…’
‘No matter, carry on,’ Konall grunted.
‘If we hit them all together it will be effective, but I think it will be effective because of the surprise, because they will not know which way to turn, and because they will be attacked together, but not because of our numbers. So it might be just as effective if we use fewer people to do it.’
Konall was confused. ‘Why not just hit them with all we have got and hammer them?’
‘Because we could split our lot into two groups – one can hit them like I said, and the other can either help defend the warlord’s party if they need it or hit the mountain men from yet another angle, causing even more confusion and less chance of manoeuvring for them.’
Cannick cleared his throat in what was becoming apparent was his way of respectfully indicating he had a contribution to make. Konall nodded, and the experienced warrior said, ‘It seems a good idea, youngster, but it is always a risk to split yourselves too many ways. It can overly weaken your forces, and make it difficult to co-ordinate each section of your, er, bunches, as you would say, especially the way situations can change quickly in battle.’
Brann flinched. ‘In battle’. The words seemed so ominous, making what was about to take place so much more than just launching a rescue bid to save a party of aristocrats on their way to an outdoor banquet. Yet what they were proposing was a battle – a small one, but a battle nonetheless. He wished Cannick had never used the words.
He shook his head in an effort to concentrate on the whole of what Cannick suggested, rather than just those two words. ‘If we were talking of attacking normal warriors, properly trained, I think you would be right.’ He flushed. ‘Well, I mean, I know you would be right. But I have…’ He looked at Konall and Hakon. ‘We have seen these men in action. They fight like wild animals, like the lowest order of vicious street criminals, and nothing like trained warriors. They overwhelm you with their numbers and their wild attacks, with no tactics other than their desire, their urgent desire, to rip you apart. And I mean, really rip you apart.’ He shook his head again. He was nearly crying as the attack on Konall’s hunting party flooded his memory. ‘But that is an advantage, too: because they fight like animals, they will react like animals. If we surprise them, and confuse them, and turn them so they do not know where to expect the next danger, they will panic. Each one will care only about his own survival, and they will cease to operate as one force, which is their only real advantage. We might be splitting our total resources into three smaller, er, bunches – but I think we can split them into a hundred bunches of one.
‘Then we can chase them off, or hem them in and destroy them.’
Konall snorted. ‘There is only one option there, then.’ He looked at Cannick. ‘What do you think?’
The old warrior was breathing even more heavily than Brann. ‘I think,’ he panted, ‘that I find it hard to believe that a farm boy thinks like that. It is simple, flexible, and makes sense. All you can ask for.’
Hakon grinned. ‘He seems to have a knack for it. Well, that and hitting with a sword. Oh, and it is better not to call him a farm boy. He is a touchy little mill boy.’
Cannick smiled. ‘So, what is your secret, boy? Father used to be a soldier? Uncle served as a mercenary? Where did you get it from?’
Brann shrugged. ‘I really do not know. It is just what seems right, that is all. To be honest, I keep expecting my luck to run out, it terrifies me.’
The veteran slapped him on the back, almost knocking him to the ground as he ran. ‘Stay that way, boy. It will stop you being complacent. I can show you plenty of complacent warriors – they are the dead ones.’
Without slowing their advance, Konall called the two local warriors forward, and sent Cannick back to spread the word among Einarr’s men about their plans and to organise the party into two groups as they ran. Those who woul
d attack the mountain men from the outset would be led by Cannick: Konall reckoned that he knew them better than anyone and that they would respond to his leadership – and that, as by far the most experienced warrior present, he was quite simply the best man for the job. The second group, to either reinforce Lord Sigurr’s party or attack separately, would be headed by Konall, with Hakon and Brann at his side. Brann felt that the two boys felt obliged to keep him close because they were worried about him, but he was not insulted. Rather, he felt comforted, and relieved that they would be beside him. It did not, however, relieve his fear. He reflected that his recent life seemed to involve him lurching from one situation of terror to another.
Just then, the warriors that Konall had called to the front to act as guides indicated that they were nearing their destination. Konall raised a hand to halt them and take stock of the situation. As they paused, and the sound of their running dispersed, they became aware of clamour in front and behind them: the sounds of battle ahead and, to the rear, the shouts of confusion and concern from the residents who had been wakened and alarmed by a large group of armed men thundering past their homes.
Brann sank to one knee to catch his breath and relieve his aching arms. Despite the strength he had built up as a rower it had not taken long for the unaccustomed weight of a shield on one arm and a long sword in his other hand – the sword had been lying loose and there had been no time to find a scabbard – to take its toll. And the ill-fitting helmet that had been dumped onto his head kept slipping backwards and forwards, both irritating him and worrying him that it would fall over his eyes at a crucially bad moment.
‘You will catch your breath better if you stand up,’ a familiar voice said above him.
Brann jumped up in surprise – and alarm. ‘Gerens! What are you doing here? You are in no state for this.’
His rowing partner’s dark gaze never altered. ‘I will be fine, chief. I would have worried too much about you if I let you do this alone. And I am not the only one.’ He nodded to his side to direct Brann’s attention to Grakk who, quiet as ever, was a few yards behind them.
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