Lord of the Seas

by Sabrina Jarema

  As his men defeated the other crew and drove them toward the center, they took control of each ship. They untied it and a few men rowed them away, like peeling an onion from each end. The king’s men jumped into the water, surrendering and trying to swim to shore. The crews in Rorik’s smaller boats killed them off. Most of those who reached land met similar fates at the hands of their allies watching from the beaches.

  “It is time.” Rorik held up his hand and the men dipped the Wind’s oars into the water.

  “I was beginning to think we’d miss all the fun.” Kaia unsheathed her sword. “You waited long enough.”

  “He did the right thing.” Eirik checked his blade. “We had to wait for Thorir to get around the line so he can come in at the same time from the other side. The most important men are in the center with their best warriors. Our attack leaves them vulnerable from the front and the rear, which is where Thorir is coming from. We’ll hit them at the same time as Magnus and Leif get there.”

  “No place to go.” Asa smiled. “Once we kill the commander, his men will give up.”

  “And die.” Kaia bared her teeth in a grim smile.

  “And we all get more ships,” Rorik said.

  Kaia rolled her eyes. “You and your ships. As long as I finally get one of my own, I’ll be happy.”

  “As long as you’re killing someone, you’re happy.” Ellisif set another arrow to her bow. “I’ll guard all of you as you board.”

  “Just stay here and pick them off.” Rorik gave her a long look. “You don’t have the sword skill we do.”

  “How would you know?”

  He didn’t answer. The ships were very close now and he moved with the others to the bow. He scanned the ship ahead of them. A large, red-haired man fought some of the men who had boarded his ship, shouting orders as the main battle came closer. On the other side of the line, Thorir also closed on him.

  Rorik studied the situation. The melee was concentrated in the center now, the flanking ships having been taken. Just as he’d planned. He climbed up behind the dragonhead ornament. To his left, Ellisif took up her position to guard him while he boarded the other vessel.

  The steersman guided the Wind to the left of the command vessel, between it and the next one. Rorik didn’t wait for them to touch. Hefting his shield, he leaped across and into the midst of the conflict. A man came at him, but one of Ellisif’s arrows took him before Rorik could engage. She killed another man before he could meet him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Odin’s eye, Elli, leave me someone to kill.”

  “I’m just clearing the way for you.” She nodded to his right. The commander was still shouting orders while he fought and hadn’t seen him yet.

  Eirik leaped past him, Asa following. Kaia was already fighting, grinning as she slew a man. Thorir leaped aboard from the other side, a sword in each hand. His men flooded in after him. They fought outward, meeting the king’s men who still remained. Those men had been facing Magnus’s and Leif’s forces, but now they were surrounded on each side of the command ship. Some continued to fight, but many jumped overboard to try to escape their fate. Between Rorik’s archers and the patrolling ships, they weren’t successful.

  Rorik blocked an overhead strike with his shield, sweeping the sword aside. A warrior wearing expensive mail struck him with his own shield, knocking him back. Rorik slipped on a rope on the deck. The man’s sword sliced toward him.

  Ellisif barreled into the warrior, sending them both flying. She moved so fast, she was little more than a blur. Spinning, she leaped onto him, her seax flashing downward through his mail and into his chest. She slashed it again across his throat, then stood and came to Rorik. He hadn’t even had time to rise.

  “No sword skills, perhaps,” she said. “But a seax is another matter.”

  The warrior she’d killed still gripped his sword and it was one of the finest Rorik had seen. Only a man of great rank would have a weapon like that. His skin chilled. “Get back on our ship.” He took her arm and pushed her toward the bow. “You’ve just taken down an important man. That will make you a target. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be here either.” Her eyes widened. “Behind.”

  He pivoted and swept the spear aside with his shield, thrusting at the same time with his sword. He pulled it from the man’s gut as he fell, and looked for Ellisif. She had gone.

  Moving toward the commander, he glanced around to gauge the battle. Thorir fought with his two blades just a few steps from him. He blocked with one, while striking with the other. The bodies of three men lay around him. Eirik had fought his way onto the flagship, his every movement fast and unceasing. Asa guarded his back. Beyond the commander, Leif leaped up as a man thrust his spear at him, clearing it. He smashed the spear aside with his shield, then rammed the warrior and sliced his stomach open.

  The metallic odor of blood filled Rorik’s nostrils. It dripped down his body and pooled on the deck, but none of it was his. He hoped.

  Rorik slew two more men as he made his way closer to Glóthi. A circle of survivors joined the commander. If he could get past them and slay him, it would end the battle.

  One of the men who stood with Glóthi aimed his spear at Thorir. The jarl had slain another man and was walking toward Rorik as he looked around himself for another fight. The guard hurled the spear.

  Rorik dropped his shield and leaped toward Thorir. As the spear passed him, he caught it, spun, and threw it. It hit the guard, impaling him through the chest, and he fell in a gush of blood.

  Thorir laughed. “You have to teach me that one day. But right now, we have the king’s men to slay.”

  “Agreed.” He picked his shield up from the bloody deck. Eirik, Asa, Kaia, and Magnus joined them with their men. Leif stood on the far ship, his warriors with him. They’d fought their way into the center. The commander was surrounded.

  An arrow struck another of Glóthi’s men in the eye and he went down. As the other guards raised their shields, Rorik looked behind him. Ellisif had gone back to the Wind as he had told her to, but she was wrapped around the dragonhead, still taking shots. Rorik held up his hand to stop her. She had already saved him once today. He wasn’t going to let her kill the rest of them while he stood by and did nothing.

  He jumped onto the commander’s deck. “A bit out of Halfdan’s territory, aren’t you? I believe you belong in the Vestfold. It’s to the south, and yet you headed north. Lost, are you?”

  “What makes you think we’re his men?”

  “Because I know of you, Glóthi. And I never forget a ship. I’ve seen some of these in Kaupang. They belong to him.”

  “So you admit to knowingly ambushing and attacking the king’s ships?”

  “First, he’s a king, not my king. Second, you had so many men on board the vessels, they were barely seaworthy. Made it hard to maneuver them. You don’t load down warships with this many men to go on a pleasure cruise up the coast. You were bringing an army to attack Vargfjell from the south to test my strength. Where were you going to land? The Hemnefjorden? Then move inland from there? You forget, my allies are many and might not appreciate an invasion by a foreign king. You thought you could just walk through there. You didn’t expect me to meet you first.”

  He looked him up and down. “Rorik of Vargfjell. Your reputation is far-reaching.”

  Rorik glanced at Thorir and Eirik. They’d been right. In calling him by name, Glóthi had just admitted he knew him. The king had, indeed, sent them to attack him.

  “I’d let you live to tell Halfdan of my strength, since he’s so curious, but I think he’ll have his answer when few of you return, and when I’m seen with this vessel as my flagship. I need a new one anyhow. Now I won’t have to wait for one to be built.”

  “You’ll have to get through me first.”

  Raising his sword, he grinned. “Thank you for the invitation.” He charged him while Magnus and Thorir headed for the guards. Eirik
and Asa split, darting around them while Leif rushed at them from the opposite side. They all met in a clash of steel, but Rorik went straight for Glóthi. They collided, swords to shields.

  The man was as large and as powerful as Rorik. Neither moved, their weapons straining against each other. Rorik held his stare, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Nothing short of death. Then they broke apart and clashed again. Glóthi tried an overhead strike. Rorik blocked it with his blade and hit him in the stomach with the edge of his shield. The commander staggered back, then leaped forward again. His sword swept toward him. Rorik threw himself down, then cut with his own blade, slicing Glóthi’s shin.

  He rolled to his feet, keeping his shield pressed hard against his shoulder and arm, his head tucked behind it. Glóthi stabbed downward, the point of his sword breaking through the wood. It sliced his bicep. Rorik twisted the shield to trap and bend the sword, but the commander jerked it out.

  Rorik moved across the deck, slipping on blood, avoiding bodies and ropes. Glóthi was skilled, a relentless fighter. He showed no signs of tiring. Already Rorik’s shield had split and it wouldn’t hold much longer. He lunged, swinging his sword for a killing stroke.

  Glóthi ducked. The sword passed over him and bit hard into the mast. It stuck fast. Rorik yanked at it, then had to abandon it as the commander came at him. He held his shield with both hands, using it as both defense and a weapon. Holding it straight up, he pounded at the large man, driving him back, not giving him a chance to strike. Glóthi’s shield splintered.

  Dropping it, he rammed Rorik with his shoulder, and drove him into the mast. Rorik’s head cracked into it and stars burst in his mind. Pain speared through his skull, almost driving his thoughts from him as he shoved Góthi back, hard. The commander fell over a corpse, but rose again, his teeth bared. Leaning on the mast behind him, Rorik forced his focus on his enemy. If he passed out, he was dead. The world swam, but steadied as he glanced down at his damaged shield. It wouldn’t hold against another blade strike, but he had nothing else.

  He couldn’t leave Elfwynn like this. Not when he had just found what he’d always searched for. Not when he hadn’t told her of his love. He gritted his teeth and lifted the splintered shield. The wood was weak, but the metal edge wasn’t. If he missed, he’d have nothing left.

  Sometimes, the only recourse was to let go of what one needed most.

  Glóthi came at him, his sword raised over his head, death in his eyes. Rorik grasped his damaged shield with both hands and threw it, edge first. The metal struck Glóthi in his exposed throat. He dropped his sword, clutching at his neck. Rorik staggered to him, grabbed his head and jerked sideways. There was a sickening crack. He sank to the deck and lay still. Rorik grabbed the commander’s sword and checked his surroundings. Glóthi’s death had brought the fighting around him to a stop.

  Some of the king’s men leaped overboard and swam toward shore, but most of them dropped their weapons and knelt on the gory deck. At the stern, one of the fallen warriors lifted a seax, aiming it at Kaia’s turned back. Rorik lunged for her, yelling. Before he could reach him, the man lurched and fell dead, an arrow through his chest. As Kaia spun around, Rorik looked over his shoulder. Ellisif, still hanging onto the dragonhead of the Wind, inclined her head to them. One corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smile.

  Rorik looked at all of them, Eirik and Asa, Magnus, Leif, Thorir, Ellisif, and Kaia. They raised their weapons and, along with their men, shouted in victory. Their warriors on the ships around them joined in celebration and along the shoreline, their allies raised their arms, waving to them. A breeze circled the ships, then vanished. The two ravens sped away toward the distant mountains to tell Odin that he needed to make places in Valhalla for many valiant warriors this day.

  Even the gods heard their triumph. Rorik smiled. And Halfdan would know of it, as well. They couldn’t hope to have killed all his men who had fled and some had likely escaped to report back to him.

  Eirik drew Asa against him. “From here to the Vestfold, and even beyond, the tale will be told of how we came up against a king and won. Rorik truly is the Lord of the Seas.”

  They raised their voices again, their swords against the sky. Rorik looked around them. So many ships waited for them. Not only his twenty-three, Magnus’s four, Thorir’s ten, and Eirik’s great ship, but now they had a large part of Halfdan’s fleet. He counted twenty-five of them. This one, he’d keep for himself to replace the flagship he’d lost in Northumbria. Then they’d split the others between them. As allies, they’d be invincible, at least on the water. The king had been concerned that Rorik was too powerful. By attacking him, he’d only succeeded in making him even stronger.

  If there was to be a reckoning with Halfdan in the future, it likely wouldn’t be by sea. No one would dare to threaten him there now. But with this many ships and this victory, men would flock to him and his family, wanting to align themselves with the strongest jarls.

  He winced. With the additional power he wielded now, he was going to have to be a jarl, whether he wanted the title or not. His men moved from ship to ship, clearing the decks of the debris of war, tossing the bodies of the king’s men overboard after taking their weapons, jewelry and mail from them. He’d have his own fallen taken to shore, pyres built for them, and then he’d send them off to Valhalla in splendor. It was what jarls did.

  The ships that had fought away from the line moved toward the shore. They’d all meet there to assess the damage, drink to the dead, and divide the spoils. But no matter how long the others chose to remain, he’d sail for Vargfjell tomorrow to take the wounded there and let his people know he had won.

  And now that he had survived, he’d let Elfwynn know she had also won—his heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vargfjell

  Rorik sighed in relief when he saw the light of the bonfires on the beach. No one else would have risked the twists and turns of the fjord at night except for him. He navigated the waters as easily as he walked through his longhouse, no matter if it was day or night. Knowing this, whenever he was gone, his people left fires lit from dusk until dawn in the event he returned in the dark.

  All the other ships in the vast fleet had remained behind, anchored beyond the mouth of the fjord. They would make the journey in the morning. He couldn’t wait that long. the Wind carried the wounded and he wanted to get them to the healers as quickly as possible. Most of his men could cauterize a wound and other such simple procedures, but some injuries needed more. They needed Lifa and Silvi. They’d add their talents to his skilled healers, but he had to get the men to them first.

  He nodded to his steersman as he guided the ship to the dock closest to the path. If his guards were alert, they’d spot him very soon. The massive vessel glided silent and smooth on the glassy waters, but they should see its outline in the moon’s reflection the same way he navigated at night. There was activity on the shoreline and someone ran to the longhouse. His men had seen them.

  As they eased into the pier, a crowd came down from the village. He jumped onto the dock and people swarmed him, asking him of the battle.

  “We were victorious. The king’s ships are ours and even now, the fleet lies anchored off the fjord. They’ll be here at first light.”

  As the people cheered, he searched for one face among them. Elfwynn wasn’t there. Had something happened to her? He strode through the crowd, smiling as they touched and praised him. Galinn came to him and reported that all was well in his absence. It meant she was still there, but where?

  He ran along the path, but stopped as he came into the light of the fires outside the longhouse and looked down at himself. He’d washed off the blood of war days ago in the ocean, but salt still clung to him and his clothes were badly stained. This wasn’t how he wanted to go to her.

  The door to her chamber was closed as he passed it going to the back door and his sauna. Servants had already laid clean clothes out for him and the water was warm. He didn’t h
ave the time for a full sauna, so he upended the buckets of water over himself. After washing his hair and his body, he felt almost human, though he was sore from the fighting and his head still ached a bit. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. But then, he hadn’t fought much this summer, so perhaps he was getting soft. He paused. It was true he didn’t miss it like he once might have. He must be getting old. Next thing he knew, he’d be sitting in his hall with a blanket over his legs, gumming porridge.

  But not yet.

  When he entered the longhouse, Lifa and Silvi were there, setting up tables to place the wounded on once the men carried them up on their shields. His healers helped them as Lifa walked to him.

  “How many?”

  “Twenty who are serious. There are at least thirty who aren’t so critical. Those who could wait will come tomorrow on the other ships. We did what we could afterward, but there is only so much we know.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” She looked at the other healers. “We’ll take care of them, though it is the Norns who weave their destinies.”

  “I know, but you can make a difference in how well the survivors live after this.” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze and headed for Elfwynn’s chamber.

  “Speaking of weaving, she’s not in her room.”

  He looked back at Lifa. “Then is she at Oslafa’s house?” It would explain why she hadn’t heard the noise of his return.

  “No. She’s there.” She nodded at the weaving room. The door was open. She should hear them. Lifa came to him, concern in her eyes. “She’s finally sleeping because I gave her an herb in her drink. I didn’t have the heart to wake her to move her to her room.”

  “I don’t understand. Is she unwell?”

  “Not in the body. But in her mind. She has a great fear of war, of losing those she loves to it. I tried to speak with her and she would only say that she lost her brother and a cousin to war. She hasn’t slept since you left, and she’s barely eaten anything. She’s exhausted. All she has done is weave. It calms her.”