‘Suppose you thought he’d sling you a ring or two for your kindness, eh?’
‘He’ll cover me head to bloody toe in gold when he realizes what rides this way! Huldir means to put these halls to the torch and butcher anyone who tries to stop him.’
‘Has he lost his mind? What’s he after?
‘Vengeance, of course! Those Danish princes. Gods, but I’ve wasted enough time with you! I must find the king.’
He turned to the hall, but Kai grabbed his arm. ‘Hold up there, friend! You can’t just go crashing into his mead-hall and raising all Hel. Loki’s toes! It wouldn’t take more than a crow’s fart to set the whole pack of them Danes to slaughter.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the thing stands on the edge of an axe as it is. You barge in there rattling your shield and screaming bloody mayhem and I tell you, mayhem you will get. And long before Huldir and his boys are anywhere near the place.’
‘Well then. You have a better idea?’
‘Happens I do.’
Kai chuckled. Perhaps the evening wasn’t going to be so dull after all.
Inside, Bersi the skald launched into another verse and Erlan wondered wearily whether his turgid house-lay would ever end. It was still early but the heat was intolerable, prickling his back with sweat.
He had spent most of the occasion determined to avoid looking at Lilla, sat in splendour next to her new husband at the king’s table. His anger had boiled all away over the last two days, like a kettle left too long over the fire, leaving him irritable, scorching hot to the touch. The slightest thing would set off his temper so he had stayed out of others’ way.
He cast his eyes around the mead-hall. Was it only him who was sick of all this feasting? The place was so full the walls must have been bowing outwards. Every noble man and woman under the king’s salt was jammed along the benches, and scattered among them, Ringast’s entourage.
Tonight the lower folk were feasting too: house-karls, smiths, traders, freemen, bondsmen and the like, together with their womenfolk – all filling up the smaller halls dotted about Uppsala. Erlan could only imagine the wildness of their revelry by now.
But the king’s feast in honour of his daughter was a long way from descending into the usual drunkenness and debauchery. The guests had been promised entertainment: skald-singers, tumblers, wrestlers, mummers, fire-eaters, dancing girls, even a dwarf-bear that could caper a jig. The night would be a long one, indeed. Erlan stifled a yawn and let his gaze drift along the benches.
That was the moment he spotted an all-too-familiar face.
Kai was peeking out from the shadow of a pillar, eyebrows jumping about like minnows on a hook.
What does the little fool want now?
Seeing he had caught Erlan’s attention, Kai was signalling him over. Erlan sighed, looked about, but most folk’s eyes were intent on the skald. So he eased himself from his seat and slunk back into the shadows.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed when he reached Kai. ‘Didn’t I tell—’
‘Yes, yes. Shut up and listen.’ For a change, the lad looked halfway serious.
‘What is it?’
And it all came spilling out in feverish whispers – about the rider and Huldir and his men, that he was riding here with vengeance in his heart. Erlan listened carefully. If true, it was a bold stroke. Bold and damned reckless. But from what he knew of Earl Huldir, that was entirely possible.
‘How far away are they?’
‘He said they had planned to cross at Ulvar’s Mill. But it’ll take them a while to ride that far north. Even so, they might cross before nightfall.’
‘Fifty men, huh?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Then we need as many. Go find Jovard and round up as many as you can from the small halls. Check the Smith’s Hall and the Brewer’s – that’s where most of the karls will be. Get them armed and on horseback quick as you can. We’ll assemble at the stables.’
‘But the fella was adamant the king should know.’
‘Leave that to me. Just go.’
Kai nodded and turned to leave.
‘Hey!’ Erlan caught his arm. ‘Quietly, eh?’
‘I’ll be the soul of discretion, master!’
And then he was gone.
Meanwhile, Bersi had at last come to the end of his song. The applause was tepid, but at least the quiet was broken. Thrall-girls began refreshing cups, people rose from their places, the talk picked up. Erlan scanned the king’s table and found Sviggar at its centre, dwarfed by the tall back of his oaken throne.
How could he alert Sviggar without drawing attention to himself and arousing the curiosity of Ringast, who was seated right beside him? Then Bodvar rose and made his way down to the lower section of the hall. Erlan hurried through the guests to head him off.
‘Lord Bodvar,’ he said, catching the earl’s elbow. ‘A word.’
‘Aurvandil! Good health to you.’ But seeing Erlan’s expression, his smile flattened. ‘What is it?’
It took Erlan a few moments to explain.
‘Curses on the fool!’ Bodvar snorted when he’d finished. ‘No one here can know. Whatever madness Huldir intends, the Danes must hear nothing of it. Nothing! You understand? Else this feast will become a bloodbath.’
‘What about the Sveär nobles? There’s half a hundred swords in here.’
‘We’ll have to leave them be. Ringast would notice at once. No – we’ll have to make do with karls.’
‘Kai and Jovard should be gathering men from the other halls by now.’
‘Good.’
‘What about you?’
Bodvar grimaced. ‘I’ll ride with you. I’ve known Huldir a long time. Might be I can talk the old ox down. He’s headstrong, sure, but he’s never been entirely deaf to reason.’ A frown crumpled Bodvar’s brow. ‘The king should know of this, of course. Go and ready whatever crew they’ve assembled. I’ll join you directly.’
Erlan went as fast as his ankle would allow to the stables, where Jovard and Kai had already mustered a couple dozen men. Even from a distance, he could smell the reek of violence on them. Most, if not all, would have been well on the road to getting dead drunk by the time Kai got to them. But he guessed, by the time any steel was drawn – if it was drawn – they would have sobered up some. Then again, maybe it was better to have a bit of ale-fire in their bellies.
The talk was rowdy as the men threw bridles on horses, pulled on byrnies – those rich enough to have them – or quilted corselets or boiled leather, belted on swords, shouldered axes: the usual fuss before riding for a fight. Excitement laced with nerves.
Ever resourceful, Kai had already fetched their gear so Erlan readied himself. Tugging his belt into place, his mind lurched back to his fight with the Watcher in that dark place under the earth. The belt was a trophy, fashioned from the Watcher’s tail. But it meant more to him than his victory. It meant life – the will to live in a world where death often seemed the sanest thing to seek. And as he remembered he felt that strange fearlessness surge in his blood. A kind of reckless certainty. But where it came from, he couldn’t say.
The light was fading. Darkness was coming.
He gripped the hilt of Wrathling and squeezed it tight. Between the cold metal of its twin rings he found his comfort. Here was his friend – a friend of iron that had served the long line of his blood before him. Lilla had made her choice. This was where he belonged.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The crossing at Ulvar’s Mill lay a league west of Sviggar’s Great Hall.
It was a mellow summer’s evening. Twilight was settling. Rooks and pigeons were fluttering to their roosts, disturbed by the approaching hoofbeats. Erlan’s nostrils caught the smell of the river, of the reedbeds, of the stinking mud where oxen and carts mounted the bridge over the meandering Fyris on their way to and from the seat of the king.
The mead-fuelled fighting talk had dwindled to silence as they drew cl
oser. At the head of the column Earl Bodvar slowed to a walk. A low moon slanted off the surface of the Fyris as it flowed smooth and slick.
The bridge had been built to last – heavy planking and huge square-cut piles – and was wide enough for a fair-sized cart to cross without any fear of tipping over. Erlan wondered how long it had stood there. Fifty years? A hundred? Whatever, he doubted, in all that time, the air had ever hung so heavy with foreboding.
Out of habit, he touched his hilt.
Ahead, just short of the treeline, Bodvar raised an arm, barely visible in the gloom. The column halted. No one spoke. Only watched the bridge and listened.
Panting horses. The rushing river. A jackdaw cawing to the north.
‘Seems we’re in time,’ Bodvar murmured.
‘If they’re coming this way,’ said Erlan.
‘It’s this or swim the river. And Huldir wouldn’t do that. Not with fifty... They must be waiting for darkness.’ The earl looked round at the men. ‘Quickly now – into positions. If the gods are good, then not a drop of blood need be spilt.’ He turned to Erlan. ‘You know what to do.’
Bodvar had explained his plan on the road from Uppsala. They would divide their twenty-five riders into three, the middle section astride the road out of sight of the bridge, with two flanking sections taking up position among the alder trees growing up- and downstream of where the bridge touched the eastern bank. Bodvar would challenge Huldir’s lead riders in the centre. If they tried to ride on, at Bodvar’s signal, the two flanking sections were to attack from the side. Meanwhile, Erlan and four others were to swim the river, staying out of sight of anyone watching the bridge from a distance. They were the stopper in the flask, as it were, the barrier to stop any of Huldir’s men escaping back onto the western side.
‘How are we supposed to swim the river with a byrnie on?’ complained Jari Iron-Tongue, when Erlan led his crew to the bank. ‘I don’t see why we can’t just walk across. There’s no one here to stop us.’
‘With this moon, we’d be seen from half a league downriver if you stood up there,’ Erlan replied.
‘You can give your byrnie to me if you don’t want it,’ said another karl.
‘You’d be lucky,’ Jari retorted.
‘It’s not deep,’ Jovard said. ‘If you can’t swim you can probably wade across.’
‘Probably? That’s a real comfort, that is.’ Jari’s head suddenly snapped up. ‘D’you hear that?’
‘Odin’s eye, you’re a jumpy son of a bitch, aren’t you?’
Erlan listened. There was a rustling noise behind them, coming closer. All of a sudden a body came tumbling through the reeds clutching a shield and a long-spear. ‘There you are! I can’t hardly tell arse from tit in this light.’
‘Kai!’ That was all he needed. He’d given him firm orders to hang back and see how the thing played out. He didn’t want any distractions. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I did reflect on what you said, master, but decided you probably needed the extra hand.’
‘Gods – won’t you do anything I tell you?’
‘There didn’t seem no point in me staying back there twiddling my toes.’
‘It was for your own good, bonehead! Tonight’s a killing night. You can smell it. I don’t want you getting mixed up in it.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘No, you fucking can’t! And now I’m going to have to instead.’
‘Balls to that! We’ve got this far, haven’t we, master?’ Kai grinned. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘How do you feel about getting wet?’ Jari smirked.
‘Listen up,’ Erlan said, losing patience. ‘Your shield and one weapon. Everything else stays here.’
The water was cold and fast-flowing but Jovard was right: it wasn’t above shoulder-deep and all of them made it across, half-swimming, half-wading, with shield and blade slung over their backs.
Once across they snuck along the bank towards the bridge until the lattice of thick timber loomed overhead. They lined out in its shadow, lying flat against the bank.
‘I feel like a bloody troll lurking under here,’ muttered Jari.
‘Look like one, too,’ said Kai.
‘Hey, kid – why don’t you go suck a—’
‘Shut it, both of you! Not another word, understand?’
Kai gave a sullen nod. Probably pulled a face as well but it was too dark to make out his features. Erlan was grateful for the sliver of moon rising to the east. But for its silvery light, they would soon be able to see nothing at all.
Across the river, everything was still.
He wondered how long they would have to wait. And now they were ready, doubts began to enter his head. Perhaps they were in the wrong place. Perhaps Huldir and his men had chosen another way across the Fyris. Perhaps this was all some fool’s game and Huldir was tucked up in his hall at Svartadale nursing a head cold.
He scanned the crest of the riverbank. A line of silver birches stretched south, glimmering like sentinels’ spears in the moonlight. He strained his ears for any sound that might herald riders. But for a long time, there was nothing.
And then some movement to the south snagged his vision.
At first, he thought his eyes were playing him false, but almost at once there was a swell of sound to answer any doubts. Clinking bridles, the jangle of armour, the myriad thud of hoofbeats, and then the shadows stirred, taking form.
Riders... A lot of riders.
They moved too fast to count them. But he guessed at least thirty were trotting towards the bridge, maybe more.
Approaching the gulley that ran down to the bridge, they slowed, filing into twos and threes. Most were helmed and carrying a spear. In the gloom, they all looked the same, like some army of shadows risen from the mist-land of Niflheim. But one rider caught his eye. The man’s huge rounded shoulders and his torso, big and shapeless as a boulder, marked him out from the rest.
Huldir Hoskursson. The Great Ox.
Erlan ducked as the first rider mounted the bridge, timber banging noisily. He flinched with the shock of it, then flinched again a few moments later when a voice cried, ‘HOLD!’ clear as thunder.
There was a squall of shouting. Horses whinnied in protest, hooves clattered to a standstill. Erlan stretched his ears into the darkness.
On the bridge one horse kept on. Clump, clump, clump...
‘Huldir Hoskursson!’ the voice cried. ‘I order you to hold, in the name of the king!’
The footsteps stopped. There was a pause, then a bellow of laughter. ‘Is that you, Bodvar, you old whoremonger?’
Another pause. ‘I’m Bodvar.’
‘Come on, man – let’s see that ugly face of yours.’
Across the river came the sound of horses advancing.
‘A little short on company, aren’t you, friend?’
‘Perhaps,’ Bodvar replied. ‘Perhaps not.’
Huldir snorted. Erlan guessed he must be scanning the other side, but from that distance, the other karls would be invisible in the shadow of the trees.
‘A fine night for a ride, old comrade,’ Bodvar continued. ‘But the king would like to know your purpose all the same.’
‘Your king, Bodvar. No longer mine.’
‘Aren’t you and I bound by the same oath? To the same man?’
‘My oaths extend only as far as my honour will allow. A man is no king who’ll pimp his daughter for gold and a shameful alliance. And he’s no better than a dog who would have a man sworn to him ignore his debts of blood.’
‘We all have debts unpaid, Huldir. But this way we may have peace.’
‘Peace!’ Huldir bellowed. ‘A curse on this peace! How can there be peace for me when three sons lie slaughtered? And the last of them, skinned like a hog! No – there can be no peace for me while the Wartooth and his sons still live. Every night the voices of my boys cry for vengeance.’
‘I’m sorry your sleep is troubled.’
‘Don’
t you dare mock me! You know nothing about losing a son and heir. And not one, but three.’
‘Careless old bastard, ain’t he?’ Kai whispered, earning himself a kick from Jovard.
‘I know this much,’ answered Bodvar. ‘Any chance you had of vengeance is gone. You were betrayed. The Wartooth’s sons are warned.’ It was a lie but Huldir couldn’t know that. The fact was only twenty-five men stood between him and his dream of slaughter. ‘Sviggar is a fair king. Give up this madness and he promises the Wartooth will make good your loss. He will see that the wergeld is generous.’
Huldir laughed long and bitterly at that. ‘Are you whelp to a coward now, Vestmanland? You think I would accept silver for my own flesh and blood?’
‘The choice is simple. We offer silver... Or steel.’
The sound of a blade being unsheathed rasped over the whispering river. After that, silence. The air reeked of unspilled blood. Erlan’s skin prickled.
‘Don’t be a fool, old friend!’ Bodvar cried, a pleading note in his gruff voice. ‘The Norns haven’t woven this yet.’
‘The Norns be damned!’ roared Huldir. ‘And you as well!’
‘Steel it is then,’ said another, softer voice with dark relish, then began to laugh. Something fizzed through the air. There was a bone-chilling scream, then a body hit the ground.
After that all Hel erupted.
Above Erlan, timber crashed, arrows whipped from the far bank, war-cries arced into the sky, then screams as the first shafts found their mark.
‘Steady,’ he hissed, rising to a crouch. ‘Hold till Bodvar’s signal.’
‘What for?’ Kai snapped. ‘More of them are getting across all the time. They need us.’
True enough. But Bodvar had insisted. If they were to catch these rats, he wanted them all in one barrel. ‘Not till his signal.’
‘Piss on that! There’ll be no one to give the bloody signal if we wait any longer!’
Above them, someone bellowed to charge, hooves thundered, then a horn split the darkness.
Bodvar’s signal at last.
‘Happy now?’ cried Kai.
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Erlan straightened up. ‘All right, lads! Hit them hard!’
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