Land of the Wolf
Chapter One
The sun had not quite crested the hills to the east, but there was light enough for Odd to see the water of the long, narrow bay, the mast towering overhead, the yard with its furled sail resting on the gallows, and the two rows of men pulling at the oars with an easy rhythm. The western shore was well-lit now, while the eastern was still lost in shadow. Behind him, standing at the tiller, Bragi Shipslayer was singing softly to himself. Bragi seemed to hate quiet, and if there was no sound to fill it, he would provide it himself.
“There, do you see?” Bragi said, apparently to the company in general. “I took the ship right down the bay in full dark, and still our course is straight and true. I only wish the gods had held off the sunrise a bit longer, then I’d show you lot how I could sail clean through these islands in the dark as well. Maybe I’ll blindfold myself.”
Odd made a face somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Just the night before — and it seemed incredible that it was just the night before — King Halfdan the Black’s man Skorri Thorbrandsson had burned them out of Ragi Oleifsson’s hall, where Odd and his wife Signy, and Amundi Thorsteinsson and his wife Alfdis, and Bragi Shipslayer and his men Huginn and Muninn had been seeking refuge.
Skorri had set the hall on fire, but Ragi, anticipating such a thing, and stealing an idea from Odd, had dug a tunnel from the hall to a path down a hillside by the bay. Once clear of the burning building, they and Ragi’s men had escaped in their somewhat derelict ship. They were bound to Fevik, Odd’s home, where he hoped to rally men to his banner. But first they had to get there, which was no sure thing with the ship sinking under them.
“Well done, Bragi,” Amundi said. “You yourself are a god where ship handling is concerned.” Amundi knew, as they all did, that Bragi would not stop until he had received some sort of acknowledgement, and likely not even after that.
“I’m glad you recognize that, Amundi,” Bragi said. “It’s certain that the gods do, or they would have struck me down long ago. But it’s possible that Halfdan the Black does not, and he might not be so kind if he catches me, or any of us, so we had best make this old gal trot.”
Their foremost goal just then was to keep free of Halfdan and his men. Unfortunately, in sailing clear of the bay, they had no choice but sail close by Halfdan’s great hall at Grømstad. They would not be seen from the hall itself, which was set back from the water, but they had to assume that Halfdan would have ships keeping watch over the watery approaches.
“Huginn! Muninn!” Bragi called and the two sailors who had been bailing amidships dropped their buckets with evident relief and came walking aft.
“I need you to look over the rig,” Bragi said. “Shrouds, forestay, mast. Yard and sail as well. Let me know if we can even hope to set the sail on this sorry tub. Which is, as I said, a fine ship,” he added, smiling at Ragi.
Huginn and Muninn nodded and headed forward. Huginn — Odd thought it was Huginn — hopped up on the larboard rail, one hand on the forward shroud, and peered close at the rope, picking at it with his fingernail and tugging it back and forth. Muninn pulled his knife from its sheath and began poking at the mast here and there, and then, apparently satisfied, climbed up onto the starboard rail and began inspecting the shrouds as Huginn was doing.
“Not much sea room for sailing, is there?” Odd asked.
“You let me worry about that, Odd Sheep-herder,” Bragi said. “That is, if those two yanking on those shrouds doesn’t bring this whole rig down around our heads.”
Odd looked forward again. Huginn and Muninn and begun to climb aloft, legs wrapped around the thick tarred shrouds, arms pulling them slowly up as they poked and tugged. Once they had reached the place where the shrouds were looped around the head of the mast they once again pulled their knives and started poking at the wood.
“Tell them not to poke too hard,” Ragi said. “They might stick their knives clean through.”
Odd pulled his eyes from the two men at the top of the mast and looked outboard. The shorelines to east and west were closing on them as the ship stood into the narrow stretch of water at the head of the bay. He searched the shores for any sign of activity, any riders watching the straits. He looked for fishermen or lumbering knarrs moving on the water. But there was nothing. It was daybreak and they were alone.
Forward, over the starboard side, the headland slipped past and the water opened up again into the harbor that fronted Halfdan’s home. Odd pressed his lips together and felt his stomach tighten. The last time he had seen that place he had been in command of a small fleet of ships, an army of warriors. They had slipped in from the sea while Halfdan was away, hunting for them. They had anchored in that harbor and marched ashore.
It had all gone just as Odd planned it, at least initially. They had captured Halfdan’s seat of power without a drop of blood spilled; his hall, his men, his servants, his wife and child. The move was meant to get Halfdan to negotiate, to see reason. But Halfdan had managed to capture Odd’s young sister, and promised to let her and the men who had accompanied Odd go free if Odd alone would give himself up. Which he did.
And now here he was again; not bringing the fight to Halfdan, but hoping to slink past.
He realized he was scowling. He forced his face to relax, but he couldn’t untie the twisted knot of emotions in his head.
“Bragi!” Huginn called down from where he clung to the shrouds twenty-five feet above the deck. “Looks to be a ship of some sort up the harbor!”
“’Course there’s a ship up the harbor, dumb ass!” Bragi called back. “That’s what harbors are for.”
“Couple of ships, in fact,” Muninn replied. “But just the one that’s got men on it, and getting underway.”
Bragi sighed, and all eyes turned toward the head of the harbor. The sun was just starting to peek over the hills to the east, but the harbor was still mostly lost in shadow and it was hard to make anything out from the deck.
“Getting underway, you said?” Bragi called back.
“Seems to be,” Muninn called down. “Hard to see. Seems to be a bunch of the fools falling over themselves, getting oars out and such.”
“Someone saw us from the shore…sent word,” Ragi said. “Halfdan has eyes everywhere, and he certainly doesn’t care to have ships that he doesn’t know passing by his great hall. Odd, I think you made him nervous that way.”
“I wish he had as much reason to be nervous as we do,” Amundi said.
“Hey, you birds up aloft!” Bragi called to the men at the mast head. “Fly on down to deck, will you?”
Huginn and Muninn, their legs still wrapped around the shrouds, slid down in a controlled plummet, hitting the rails at the same moment and hopping down to the deck. They came ambling aft, and Odd was happy to see they were not splashing through ankle-deep water. The bailing, it seemed, had done some good.
“Well, what say you?” Bragi asked. “Will this rig stand up to a sail?”
The two sailors both looked dubious, their expressions nearly identical. “Might do,” Huginn said. “The shrouds are old and stretched out, but they’re not rotten.”
“I wouldn’t warrant it for a real blow,” Muninn added. “But for the wind we’ll get this morning, it might hold up. Or not.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful,” Bragi said. “But either way we best try. That ship, it’s like to be Halfdan’s, and it would be much better for our health if they didn’t catch us. Go, and any of these sorry farmers who are standing idle, get them to help.”
The two sailors turned and headed forward. Muninn began to untie the gaskets that bound the sail to the lowered yard. Huginn rallied some of the men who were not pulling oars to do the same, then he began laying the halyard out for hauling.
“Not much wind, Bragi,” Ragi said. “Not sure there’s even enough to drive this sorry washtub.”
Bragi turned his head slowly and regarded Ragi with a look of pity, touched with disgust. Odd had come to understand that look. It was one reserved for anyone Bragi considered ignorant about maritime affairs, which was anyone but him.
“Fear not,” Bragi said. “I will conjure up the wind. I am a wizard with such things.”
It was not long before the sun had come free of the hills, rising at its dignified pace and spreading its light over the land and the water. They could see Halfdan’s ship now as they rowed past the mouth of the harbor. It was not more than half a mile astern and it was underway — even from the deck they could see that — the oars rising and falling, the bow aimed directly at them.
“Here, clap onto that halyard there,” Huginn called, and the men around him arranged themselves down the centerline of the ship, the thick rope held loose in their hands.
“Haul away!” Huginn called and the men pulled, leaning into it, and the rope stretched and creaked and popped and the yard began to rise in jerks from the gallows on which it rested. As it rose Muninn and a few others swung it around, dipping one end under the shrouds so it hung athwartships, not fore and aft.
“Hold!” Huginn called, holding up a hand, and the men on the halyard paused their heaving. He and Muninn looked back at Bragi.
“Yes, go ahead,” Bragi called. “Set that miserable rag and we’ll see how long before it tears itself to shreds!”
They continued to haul and the yard rose and the sail spilled off the yard and a half dozen men on each side hauled the sheets aft. The sail flogged and snapped and then filled, bellying out to leeward, and Odd realized that the breeze had increased with the rising sun, just as Bragi had suggested it would.
Well, he’s no wizard, he just got lucky again, Odd thought.
Bragi looked over his shoulder at Halfdan’s ship, then out to windward, and then forward past the ship’s prow. “We’ll brace up sharp, starboard tack! Get that beiti-ass run out and tack the starboard clew down! Come on now, are you all sheep-herders?”
The men forward moved to make that happen, running out the beiti-ass—a heavy pole, twenty feet long—forward out over the starboard side and running the starboard corner of the sail down to it. These men did not earn their keep on the sea, but most of them had gone a’viking for a season or two at least and knew their way around ships. Indeed, there were few men in that country, or women either, who did not understand at least the rudiments of seafaring.
Once the sail was trimmed right Bragi pushed the tiller away, just a bit, and the ship turned on a more southerly heading. The wind was coming over the starboard side now, and the ship heeled to larboard.
“Run those oars in, we’re done with that nonsense!” Bragi called and the grateful men on the rowing benches ran the oars in and stacked them on the gallows fore and aft.
With the ship heeling to leeward the water that was still aboard, most of it below the deckboards, came cascading down to the low side, creating a pool that rolled back and forth with the movement of the ship. Odd was disappointed to see how much water was still left on board. That would not help them in their race against Halfdan’s ship.
“Very well,” Bragi called next. “Now that you men have nothing to do, you can all get to bailing! See, I’ve made it easy for you!”
The grumbling from the men forward made a soft sound like distant thunder but they picked up buckets and helmets and whatever else was available and began flinging water over the leeward side. Odd looked aft once more. The men on Halfdan’s ship were still rowing, and he could see no effort being made to set the sail. They may have no wind up in the harbor, he figured, or Bragi’s move may have taken them by surprise, but either way he could see already that the distance between them was opening up.
The western side of the long bay was an unbroken shoreline as far as they could see, but on the eastern side the land devolved into miles of scattered islands, as if Thor himself had smashed the peninsula with his mighty hammer and left the shattered remnants there.
Bragi aimed the ship toward the eastern side, toward the nearest island, and as directly away from Halfdan’s ship as he could. The breeze had built to a tolerable strength and the ship was heeling over and leaving a long wake astern, with the tree-covered hump of land, its granite base low in the water, directly ahead.
The ship drove closer; one hundred feet, fifty feet, the course unwavering, and Odd wondered if Bragi even saw the island under the bow. He fought the urge to say something, sure that he would be greeted by Bragi’s scorn if he did. Twenty feet and Odd turned at last, unable to keep his mouth shut, when Bragi pushed the tiller away from him and the ship spun a quarter turn, running on a course parallel to the island.
“Huginn! Muninn! Trim that sail up!” Bragi called, then looked down at Odd, a wide smile on his face, that mischievous look in his eye.
“I hope you didn’t shit your leggings, young master!” he shouted. "But the tide’s flooding and we’ll get less current here!”
Odd ignored him, tried to act as if he had not intended to speak. He looked back astern. They had certainly put some distance between themselves and Halfdan’s ship, but he could see the men aboard the distant vessel were hauling their sail up now, the red and white striped cloth spreading as the yard was hoisted.
“Halfdan’s men are setting sail,” Odd said.
Bragi looked back astern, then forward again. “Ha! Let them!” he shouted.
“You think you can out-sail them?” Ragi asked, his tone amused, curious.
“What, in this tub of yours?” Bragi asked. “Halfdan should kill you just for the way you’ve treated this ship. You can bet his ship’s not a wreck like this. No, I can’t out-sail them, but by all the gods I can outmaneuver them! Let’s see how they play follow-my-leader though these islands!”
Odd shook his head in wonder. A powerful enemy in their wake sailing a faster and more seaworthy ship, and Bragi seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. If he was feigning delight then he was as good an actor as he claimed to be a sailor.
The island swept past on the starboard side, so close Odd could easily have tossed a chunk of bread onto the rocks, but Bragi seemed unconcerned. The tide was low, the high tide line standing out sharp, with the blanched white rocks above, the dark, wet ledge below. Odd could see the current swirling and boiling as the tide came rushing in. Halfdan’s ship, following in their wake, would have to cross the bay, and the flood tide would set them north, putting even more distance between them.
They continued running southeast, and Bragi set every man with a container to bailing. Everyone else, and the women as well, were sent to the windward side to keep the ship on as even a keel as possible. They passed the island and stood across the channel that separated it from the next, and the dozens of other islands beyond, humps of tree-covered stone that looked as if they had been scattered randomly over the water for as far they could see.
The red and white sail on Halfdan’s ship was set now, bellied out and tacked down. Odd could see the occasional flash of white around her bow as she drove through the blue-green water. But he could also see her sideways motion against the land behind as the flooding tide pushed her north.
“Ah, Ragi, you may be a pretty one with a sword, but the gods of the sea will curse you for what you’ve done to this ship!” Bragi called.
“I told you, you great, blustering heap of blubber,” Ragi said. “I told you she was in no shape to go to sea. I’ve become a farmer, may the gods help me. My raiding days are over. What need have I of a ship?”
Odd turned and looked forward. The water was over the deck boards now, up to the men’s ankles, and swirling fore and aft with the pitching of the ship. The strain that the mast, sail, and rigging were putting on the hull was opening up the seams even wider and letting the water flow in faster than ever.
“Well, she just needs to stay afloat until midday or so,” Bragi said.
“And will she?” Amundi asked.
“I have no idea, but I guarantee you we’ll find out soon enough.”
There was not much more to say, because there were not many options available to them. If they beached the ship on one of the islands to the east then they would be trapped there. If they crossed the bay and went ashore on the mainland then they would be at Halfdan’s doorstep. There was nothing that they could do but continue to run, and hope that the ship did not sink under their feet.
Soon they were up with the next island in the chain, another hump of granite sporting low, scraggly brush, an island too small to support actual trees. Again Bragi, confident in the depth of water, kept so close to the rocks that Odd felt he could lean over the side and touch them.
He looked out past the bow. He could see boats underway, fishing boats with their single sails set, making their way to the fishing grounds, or stopped in the water, casting or hauling nets. They seemed oblivious to the race for life and death going on in front of them. If they noticed at all they seemed not to care. It was not their concern.
Odd knew those waters, at least a bit, knew them from the time he had led the fleet to Halfdan’s hall. He knew that the archipelago they were passing to starboard ran for three or four miles down to the sea, and they would have to get through that chain of island and then turn north and east to get to Fevik. But he knew as well that there were several ways through the islands, passages that would make the distance considerably shorter, but which were potentially hazardous, with tricky currents and hidden rocks and shoals. He wondered what route Bragi had in mind. He wondered what Bragi would say if he dared to ask.
Happily, he did not have to find out.
“We’ll leave this next island to starboard,” Bragi said, addressing anyone within earshot, “and then once we’re past it you’ll see a channel through. Not straight through, mind, but close enough. There’s a fishing camp on one of the islands, I think, or at least some of these mangy dogs congregate there. Anyway, we shoot right past and into the open water beyond, and next thing we know young Odd Sheep-herder is buying us ale in Fevik!”
This was met with murmurs of approval. Odd leaned over the side and looked astern. Halfdan’s ship had crossed the bay and was hugging the island, driving hard in their wake, half a mile astern. Closer than they had been. Noticeably closer.
Bragi saw Odd looking. “Aw, those sheep-biters, they won’t dare follow us through the channel, fear not,” he said.
“I’m sure they won’t,” Odd said, though he was sure of no such thing, and he knew that Bragi wasn’t either. It was easy enough to follow a ship into dangerous waters: if there were any hazards, the ship in the lead would find them first. The ship following had only to stay in their wake. Their best hope was that Halfdan’s ship would give up the chase, that Halfdan had given orders that they not stray too far from their home port.
With a word from Huginn the men who were not bailing trudged from windward to leeward and relived those who were. The water, still ankle-deep, was coming in through the many open seams in the ship’s bottom faster than they could scoop it over the rail.
“Once we turn and we bring the wind astern, it’ll put a lot less strain on the hull, do you see?” Bragi said. “That leaking will stop quick as can be.”
“You’re a very hopeful fellow, aren’t you?” Ragi said.
“I most certainly am,” Bragi agreed. “It keep me youthful.”
The land on their starboard side slipped by and the quarter-mile wide passage between that island and the next opened up, just as Bragi had said it would. The passage was flanked by a phalanx of smaller island, but they could see directly through to the open water beyond, a mile away. Between the islands, and in the passage, a dozen or more fishing boats were casting nets or rowing from one spot to another.
“Here we go!” Bragi called. “Huginn! Muninn! Look lively on those sheets and braces!” Bragi pushed the tiller away from him and the ship turned to larboard. Overhead the big yard swung around until it was nearly perpendicular to the centerline of the ship and men on either side hauled away on the sheets, tugging the corners of the sail down.
With the wind now coming over their stern the ship stood more upright and the breeze seemed to die away, but the sail continued to fill and drive them ahead. They sailed into the wide channel running between the islands, and a moment later Halfdan’s ship was lost from sight.
“These fishermen,” Odd said, nodding toward the small fleet of boats, “are they from Grømstad?”
“No, not most of them,” Bragi said. “Most live on these islands. They’re a bunch of pirates, to tell the truth. Decent folk won’t have them around.”
“They sound like your sort of men, Bragi,” Ragi said.
“Naw, too savage, even for me,” Bragi said. “They hate everyone. But mostly they hate kings and laws and taxes and any of that sort of horse shit, which is why they hate Halfdan most of all. So they aren’t all bad.”
They sailed steadily past the islands, larboard and starboard, and past the fishermen working their gear. The boats from which they cast their nets were substantial; twenty or thirty feet long and each manned by half a dozen hard-looking men. Some of the fishermen glanced up as the longship moved silently by and offered no reaction beyond that, though most did not even bother to look.
“Now, here’s Halfdan’s ship, still right in our wake,” Amundi said, looking aft at their wake. Halfdan’s ship had come around the island and was standing into the passage, her sail bracing around with the change of course. She was a fast ship, apparently, and well-handled and she had made up a shocking amount of distance very quickly.
“Well, they can bite my arse,” Ragi said. “But it looks like we might have a fight on our hands.”
“If it comes to a fight, we’ll beat them into a porridge,” Bragi said, “but they haven’t caught us yet. Just watch what I do here!”
He pulled the tiller toward him, just a bit, and the ship’s bow swung to starboard, running in closer to the scattered island to the south. Odd could see the water swirling around the granite shores as the flood tide set up odd eddies and currents around the various brush-capped humps of rock.
He looked astern once more. Whoever was commanding Halfdan’s ship did not seem in the least intimidated by the rocky passage or Bragi’s latest change of course. They were still right behind, still making all the speed they could, which was clearly a lot more than Ragi’s ship could make, with its foul bottom and hull half-full of water.
“Listen here,” Odd said, loud enough to be heard down the length of the ship, and once everyone was looking his way he continued. “We’ll leave off bailing and arm ourselves for a fight. Go ahead, now.” It was not a request or a suggestion. He was done listening to Bragi’s nonsense about out-sailing Halfdan’s ship. Time to prepare for the inevitable.
“Do as you will, Lord Odd,” Bragi said, “but I tell you…”
Whatever it was that Bragi meant to tell them they never found out, because in that instant their ship ran hard up onto a submerged granite ledge. The bow seemed to rear like a frightened horse and the air was filled with the horrible sounds of scraping and rending and cracking wood. The oars, stacked on the gallows, were pitched forward like so many massive spears, falling and tumbling on either side. The shrouds that held the mast vertical snapped like threads and the massive spar broke five feet up from the deck, teetered, then came down on the starboard bow, crushing the uppermost strakes under its weight.
Odd was flung forward and he stumbled and tried to keep his footing, but failed. He went down, hands first, and was met by a great surging wave as the water filling the bilge came rushing aft. He spluttered and spit and pushed himself back up to his knees and then onto his feet.
The rest of the men and women aboard had been similarly thrown to the deck or knocked against the sides of the ship. Some were standing again, some heaving themselves up, some pulling the scattered oars off their fellows. Others were still sprawled in the bottom of the boat.
The bow of the ship was pointed up at an unnatural angle, but then it began slowly dropping, like someone easing themselves into bed. For a moment Odd thought the ship was slipping back into the sea, which would be a very bad thing, given that the bottom was clearly stove in. But then he saw that he was wrong. The ship was not sliding; the keel and the strakes were splitting as the vessel broke in two, the forward end falling and draping itself over the ledge on which it had run.
“Ha!” Bragi called, and Odd turned to see the burly man pushing himself back onto his feet after having been flung clean off the small deck aft. “Huginn, what’s that?”
Huginn was at the base of the mast, untangling himself from the twisted ropes that had torn free. “Reckon that’s nine, now!” he called.
“Nine! Well, let’s see any son of a bitch beat that!” It took Odd a moment, but he realized that Bragi must be referring to the number of ships he had wrecked. Bragi Shipslayer. He sounded positively delighted.
Chapter One
The sun had not quite crested the hills to the east, but there was light enough for Odd to see the water of the long, narrow bay, the mast towering overhead, the yard with its furled sail resting on the gallows, and the two rows of men pulling at the oars with an easy rhythm. The western shore was well-lit now, while the eastern was still lost in shadow. Behind him, standing at the tiller, Bragi Shipslayer was singing softly to himself. Bragi seemed to hate quiet, and if there was no sound to fill it, he would provide it himself.
“There, do you see?” Bragi said, apparently to the company in general. “I took the ship right down the bay in full dark, and still our course is straight and true. I only wish the gods had held off the sunrise a bit longer, then I’d show you lot how I could sail clean through these islands in the dark as well. Maybe I’ll blindfold myself.”
Odd made a face somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Just the night before — and it seemed incredible that it was just the night before — King Halfdan the Black’s man Skorri Thorbrandsson had burned them out of Ragi Oleifsson’s hall, where Odd and his wife Signy, and Amundi Thorsteinsson and his wife Alfdis, and Bragi Shipslayer and his men Huginn and Muninn had been seeking refuge.
Skorri had set the hall on fire, but Ragi, anticipating such a thing, and stealing an idea from Odd, had dug a tunnel from the hall to a path down a hillside by the bay. Once clear of the burning building, they and Ragi’s men had escaped in their somewhat derelict ship. They were bound to Fevik, Odd’s home, where he hoped to rally men to his banner. But first they had to get there, which was no sure thing with the ship sinking under them.
“Well done, Bragi,” Amundi said. “You yourself are a god where ship handling is concerned.” Amundi knew, as they all did, that Bragi would not stop until he had received some sort of acknowledgement, and likely not even after that.
“I’m glad you recognize that, Amundi,” Bragi said. “It’s certain that the gods do, or they would have struck me down long ago. But it’s possible that Halfdan the Black does not, and he might not be so kind if he catches me, or any of us, so we had best make this old gal trot.”
Their foremost goal just then was to keep free of Halfdan and his men. Unfortunately, in sailing clear of the bay, they had no choice but sail close by Halfdan’s great hall at Grømstad. They would not be seen from the hall itself, which was set back from the water, but they had to assume that Halfdan would have ships keeping watch over the watery approaches.
“Huginn! Muninn!” Bragi called and the two sailors who had been bailing amidships dropped their buckets with evident relief and came walking aft.
“I need you to look over the rig,” Bragi said. “Shrouds, forestay, mast. Yard and sail as well. Let me know if we can even hope to set the sail on this sorry tub. Which is, as I said, a fine ship,” he added, smiling at Ragi.
Huginn and Muninn nodded and headed forward. Huginn — Odd thought it was Huginn — hopped up on the larboard rail, one hand on the forward shroud, and peered close at the rope, picking at it with his fingernail and tugging it back and forth. Muninn pulled his knife from its sheath and began poking at the mast here and there, and then, apparently satisfied, climbed up onto the starboard rail and began inspecting the shrouds as Huginn was doing.
“Not much sea room for sailing, is there?” Odd asked.
“You let me worry about that, Odd Sheep-herder,” Bragi said. “That is, if those two yanking on those shrouds doesn’t bring this whole rig down around our heads.”
Odd looked forward again. Huginn and Muninn and begun to climb aloft, legs wrapped around the thick tarred shrouds, arms pulling them slowly up as they poked and tugged. Once they had reached the place where the shrouds were looped around the head of the mast they once again pulled their knives and started poking at the wood.
“Tell them not to poke too hard,” Ragi said. “They might stick their knives clean through.”
Odd pulled his eyes from the two men at the top of the mast and looked outboard. The shorelines to east and west were closing on them as the ship stood into the narrow stretch of water at the head of the bay. He searched the shores for any sign of activity, any riders watching the straits. He looked for fishermen or lumbering knarrs moving on the water. But there was nothing. It was daybreak and they were alone.
Forward, over the starboard side, the headland slipped past and the water opened up again into the harbor that fronted Halfdan’s home. Odd pressed his lips together and felt his stomach tighten. The last time he had seen that place he had been in command of a small fleet of ships, an army of warriors. They had slipped in from the sea while Halfdan was away, hunting for them. They had anchored in that harbor and marched ashore.
It had all gone just as Odd planned it, at least initially. They had captured Halfdan’s seat of power without a drop of blood spilled; his hall, his men, his servants, his wife and child. The move was meant to get Halfdan to negotiate, to see reason. But Halfdan had managed to capture Odd’s young sister, and promised to let her and the men who had accompanied Odd go free if Odd alone would give himself up. Which he did.
And now here he was again; not bringing the fight to Halfdan, but hoping to slink past.
He realized he was scowling. He forced his face to relax, but he couldn’t untie the twisted knot of emotions in his head.
“Bragi!” Huginn called down from where he clung to the shrouds twenty-five feet above the deck. “Looks to be a ship of some sort up the harbor!”
“’Course there’s a ship up the harbor, dumb ass!” Bragi called back. “That’s what harbors are for.”
“Couple of ships, in fact,” Muninn replied. “But just the one that’s got men on it, and getting underway.”
Bragi sighed, and all eyes turned toward the head of the harbor. The sun was just starting to peek over the hills to the east, but the harbor was still mostly lost in shadow and it was hard to make anything out from the deck.
“Getting underway, you said?” Bragi called back.
“Seems to be,” Muninn called down. “Hard to see. Seems to be a bunch of the fools falling over themselves, getting oars out and such.”
“Someone saw us from the shore…sent word,” Ragi said. “Halfdan has eyes everywhere, and he certainly doesn’t care to have ships that he doesn’t know passing by his great hall. Odd, I think you made him nervous that way.”
“I wish he had as much reason to be nervous as we do,” Amundi said.
“Hey, you birds up aloft!” Bragi called to the men at the mast head. “Fly on down to deck, will you?”
Huginn and Muninn, their legs still wrapped around the shrouds, slid down in a controlled plummet, hitting the rails at the same moment and hopping down to the deck. They came ambling aft, and Odd was happy to see they were not splashing through ankle-deep water. The bailing, it seemed, had done some good.
“Well, what say you?” Bragi asked. “Will this rig stand up to a sail?”
The two sailors both looked dubious, their expressions nearly identical. “Might do,” Huginn said. “The shrouds are old and stretched out, but they’re not rotten.”
“I wouldn’t warrant it for a real blow,” Muninn added. “But for the wind we’ll get this morning, it might hold up. Or not.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful,” Bragi said. “But either way we best try. That ship, it’s like to be Halfdan’s, and it would be much better for our health if they didn’t catch us. Go, and any of these sorry farmers who are standing idle, get them to help.”
The two sailors turned and headed forward. Muninn began to untie the gaskets that bound the sail to the lowered yard. Huginn rallied some of the men who were not pulling oars to do the same, then he began laying the halyard out for hauling.
“Not much wind, Bragi,” Ragi said. “Not sure there’s even enough to drive this sorry washtub.”
Bragi turned his head slowly and regarded Ragi with a look of pity, touched with disgust. Odd had come to understand that look. It was one reserved for anyone Bragi considered ignorant about maritime affairs, which was anyone but him.
“Fear not,” Bragi said. “I will conjure up the wind. I am a wizard with such things.”
It was not long before the sun had come free of the hills, rising at its dignified pace and spreading its light over the land and the water. They could see Halfdan’s ship now as they rowed past the mouth of the harbor. It was not more than half a mile astern and it was underway — even from the deck they could see that — the oars rising and falling, the bow aimed directly at them.
“Here, clap onto that halyard there,” Huginn called, and the men around him arranged themselves down the centerline of the ship, the thick rope held loose in their hands.
“Haul away!” Huginn called and the men pulled, leaning into it, and the rope stretched and creaked and popped and the yard began to rise in jerks from the gallows on which it rested. As it rose Muninn and a few others swung it around, dipping one end under the shrouds so it hung athwartships, not fore and aft.
“Hold!” Huginn called, holding up a hand, and the men on the halyard paused their heaving. He and Muninn looked back at Bragi.
“Yes, go ahead,” Bragi called. “Set that miserable rag and we’ll see how long before it tears itself to shreds!”
They continued to haul and the yard rose and the sail spilled off the yard and a half dozen men on each side hauled the sheets aft. The sail flogged and snapped and then filled, bellying out to leeward, and Odd realized that the breeze had increased with the rising sun, just as Bragi had suggested it would.
Well, he’s no wizard, he just got lucky again, Odd thought.
Bragi looked over his shoulder at Halfdan’s ship, then out to windward, and then forward past the ship’s prow. “We’ll brace up sharp, starboard tack! Get that beiti-ass run out and tack the starboard clew down! Come on now, are you all sheep-herders?”
The men forward moved to make that happen, running out the beiti-ass—a heavy pole, twenty feet long—forward out over the starboard side and running the starboard corner of the sail down to it. These men did not earn their keep on the sea, but most of them had gone a’viking for a season or two at least and knew their way around ships. Indeed, there were few men in that country, or women either, who did not understand at least the rudiments of seafaring.
Once the sail was trimmed right Bragi pushed the tiller away, just a bit, and the ship turned on a more southerly heading. The wind was coming over the starboard side now, and the ship heeled to larboard.
“Run those oars in, we’re done with that nonsense!” Bragi called and the grateful men on the rowing benches ran the oars in and stacked them on the gallows fore and aft.
With the ship heeling to leeward the water that was still aboard, most of it below the deckboards, came cascading down to the low side, creating a pool that rolled back and forth with the movement of the ship. Odd was disappointed to see how much water was still left on board. That would not help them in their race against Halfdan’s ship.
“Very well,” Bragi called next. “Now that you men have nothing to do, you can all get to bailing! See, I’ve made it easy for you!”
The grumbling from the men forward made a soft sound like distant thunder but they picked up buckets and helmets and whatever else was available and began flinging water over the leeward side. Odd looked aft once more. The men on Halfdan’s ship were still rowing, and he could see no effort being made to set the sail. They may have no wind up in the harbor, he figured, or Bragi’s move may have taken them by surprise, but either way he could see already that the distance between them was opening up.
The western side of the long bay was an unbroken shoreline as far as they could see, but on the eastern side the land devolved into miles of scattered islands, as if Thor himself had smashed the peninsula with his mighty hammer and left the shattered remnants there.
Bragi aimed the ship toward the eastern side, toward the nearest island, and as directly away from Halfdan’s ship as he could. The breeze had built to a tolerable strength and the ship was heeling over and leaving a long wake astern, with the tree-covered hump of land, its granite base low in the water, directly ahead.
The ship drove closer; one hundred feet, fifty feet, the course unwavering, and Odd wondered if Bragi even saw the island under the bow. He fought the urge to say something, sure that he would be greeted by Bragi’s scorn if he did. Twenty feet and Odd turned at last, unable to keep his mouth shut, when Bragi pushed the tiller away from him and the ship spun a quarter turn, running on a course parallel to the island.
“Huginn! Muninn! Trim that sail up!” Bragi called, then looked down at Odd, a wide smile on his face, that mischievous look in his eye.
“I hope you didn’t shit your leggings, young master!” he shouted. "But the tide’s flooding and we’ll get less current here!”
Odd ignored him, tried to act as if he had not intended to speak. He looked back astern. They had certainly put some distance between themselves and Halfdan’s ship, but he could see the men aboard the distant vessel were hauling their sail up now, the red and white striped cloth spreading as the yard was hoisted.
“Halfdan’s men are setting sail,” Odd said.
Bragi looked back astern, then forward again. “Ha! Let them!” he shouted.
“You think you can out-sail them?” Ragi asked, his tone amused, curious.
“What, in this tub of yours?” Bragi asked. “Halfdan should kill you just for the way you’ve treated this ship. You can bet his ship’s not a wreck like this. No, I can’t out-sail them, but by all the gods I can outmaneuver them! Let’s see how they play follow-my-leader though these islands!”
Odd shook his head in wonder. A powerful enemy in their wake sailing a faster and more seaworthy ship, and Bragi seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. If he was feigning delight then he was as good an actor as he claimed to be a sailor.
The island swept past on the starboard side, so close Odd could easily have tossed a chunk of bread onto the rocks, but Bragi seemed unconcerned. The tide was low, the high tide line standing out sharp, with the blanched white rocks above, the dark, wet ledge below. Odd could see the current swirling and boiling as the tide came rushing in. Halfdan’s ship, following in their wake, would have to cross the bay, and the flood tide would set them north, putting even more distance between them.
They continued running southeast, and Bragi set every man with a container to bailing. Everyone else, and the women as well, were sent to the windward side to keep the ship on as even a keel as possible. They passed the island and stood across the channel that separated it from the next, and the dozens of other islands beyond, humps of tree-covered stone that looked as if they had been scattered randomly over the water for as far they could see.
The red and white sail on Halfdan’s ship was set now, bellied out and tacked down. Odd could see the occasional flash of white around her bow as she drove through the blue-green water. But he could also see her sideways motion against the land behind as the flooding tide pushed her north.
“Ah, Ragi, you may be a pretty one with a sword, but the gods of the sea will curse you for what you’ve done to this ship!” Bragi called.
“I told you, you great, blustering heap of blubber,” Ragi said. “I told you she was in no shape to go to sea. I’ve become a farmer, may the gods help me. My raiding days are over. What need have I of a ship?”
Odd turned and looked forward. The water was over the deck boards now, up to the men’s ankles, and swirling fore and aft with the pitching of the ship. The strain that the mast, sail, and rigging were putting on the hull was opening up the seams even wider and letting the water flow in faster than ever.
“Well, she just needs to stay afloat until midday or so,” Bragi said.
“And will she?” Amundi asked.
“I have no idea, but I guarantee you we’ll find out soon enough.”
There was not much more to say, because there were not many options available to them. If they beached the ship on one of the islands to the east then they would be trapped there. If they crossed the bay and went ashore on the mainland then they would be at Halfdan’s doorstep. There was nothing that they could do but continue to run, and hope that the ship did not sink under their feet.
Soon they were up with the next island in the chain, another hump of granite sporting low, scraggly brush, an island too small to support actual trees. Again Bragi, confident in the depth of water, kept so close to the rocks that Odd felt he could lean over the side and touch them.
He looked out past the bow. He could see boats underway, fishing boats with their single sails set, making their way to the fishing grounds, or stopped in the water, casting or hauling nets. They seemed oblivious to the race for life and death going on in front of them. If they noticed at all they seemed not to care. It was not their concern.
Odd knew those waters, at least a bit, knew them from the time he had led the fleet to Halfdan’s hall. He knew that the archipelago they were passing to starboard ran for three or four miles down to the sea, and they would have to get through that chain of island and then turn north and east to get to Fevik. But he knew as well that there were several ways through the islands, passages that would make the distance considerably shorter, but which were potentially hazardous, with tricky currents and hidden rocks and shoals. He wondered what route Bragi had in mind. He wondered what Bragi would say if he dared to ask.
Happily, he did not have to find out.
“We’ll leave this next island to starboard,” Bragi said, addressing anyone within earshot, “and then once we’re past it you’ll see a channel through. Not straight through, mind, but close enough. There’s a fishing camp on one of the islands, I think, or at least some of these mangy dogs congregate there. Anyway, we shoot right past and into the open water beyond, and next thing we know young Odd Sheep-herder is buying us ale in Fevik!”
This was met with murmurs of approval. Odd leaned over the side and looked astern. Halfdan’s ship had crossed the bay and was hugging the island, driving hard in their wake, half a mile astern. Closer than they had been. Noticeably closer.
Bragi saw Odd looking. “Aw, those sheep-biters, they won’t dare follow us through the channel, fear not,” he said.
“I’m sure they won’t,” Odd said, though he was sure of no such thing, and he knew that Bragi wasn’t either. It was easy enough to follow a ship into dangerous waters: if there were any hazards, the ship in the lead would find them first. The ship following had only to stay in their wake. Their best hope was that Halfdan’s ship would give up the chase, that Halfdan had given orders that they not stray too far from their home port.
With a word from Huginn the men who were not bailing trudged from windward to leeward and relived those who were. The water, still ankle-deep, was coming in through the many open seams in the ship’s bottom faster than they could scoop it over the rail.
“Once we turn and we bring the wind astern, it’ll put a lot less strain on the hull, do you see?” Bragi said. “That leaking will stop quick as can be.”
“You’re a very hopeful fellow, aren’t you?” Ragi said.
“I most certainly am,” Bragi agreed. “It keep me youthful.”
The land on their starboard side slipped by and the quarter-mile wide passage between that island and the next opened up, just as Bragi had said it would. The passage was flanked by a phalanx of smaller island, but they could see directly through to the open water beyond, a mile away. Between the islands, and in the passage, a dozen or more fishing boats were casting nets or rowing from one spot to another.
“Here we go!” Bragi called. “Huginn! Muninn! Look lively on those sheets and braces!” Bragi pushed the tiller away from him and the ship turned to larboard. Overhead the big yard swung around until it was nearly perpendicular to the centerline of the ship and men on either side hauled away on the sheets, tugging the corners of the sail down.
With the wind now coming over their stern the ship stood more upright and the breeze seemed to die away, but the sail continued to fill and drive them ahead. They sailed into the wide channel running between the islands, and a moment later Halfdan’s ship was lost from sight.
“These fishermen,” Odd said, nodding toward the small fleet of boats, “are they from Grømstad?”
“No, not most of them,” Bragi said. “Most live on these islands. They’re a bunch of pirates, to tell the truth. Decent folk won’t have them around.”
“They sound like your sort of men, Bragi,” Ragi said.
“Naw, too savage, even for me,” Bragi said. “They hate everyone. But mostly they hate kings and laws and taxes and any of that sort of horse shit, which is why they hate Halfdan most of all. So they aren’t all bad.”
They sailed steadily past the islands, larboard and starboard, and past the fishermen working their gear. The boats from which they cast their nets were substantial; twenty or thirty feet long and each manned by half a dozen hard-looking men. Some of the fishermen glanced up as the longship moved silently by and offered no reaction beyond that, though most did not even bother to look.
“Now, here’s Halfdan’s ship, still right in our wake,” Amundi said, looking aft at their wake. Halfdan’s ship had come around the island and was standing into the passage, her sail bracing around with the change of course. She was a fast ship, apparently, and well-handled and she had made up a shocking amount of distance very quickly.
“Well, they can bite my arse,” Ragi said. “But it looks like we might have a fight on our hands.”
“If it comes to a fight, we’ll beat them into a porridge,” Bragi said, “but they haven’t caught us yet. Just watch what I do here!”
He pulled the tiller toward him, just a bit, and the ship’s bow swung to starboard, running in closer to the scattered island to the south. Odd could see the water swirling around the granite shores as the flood tide set up odd eddies and currents around the various brush-capped humps of rock.
He looked astern once more. Whoever was commanding Halfdan’s ship did not seem in the least intimidated by the rocky passage or Bragi’s latest change of course. They were still right behind, still making all the speed they could, which was clearly a lot more than Ragi’s ship could make, with its foul bottom and hull half-full of water.
“Listen here,” Odd said, loud enough to be heard down the length of the ship, and once everyone was looking his way he continued. “We’ll leave off bailing and arm ourselves for a fight. Go ahead, now.” It was not a request or a suggestion. He was done listening to Bragi’s nonsense about out-sailing Halfdan’s ship. Time to prepare for the inevitable.
“Do as you will, Lord Odd,” Bragi said, “but I tell you…”
Whatever it was that Bragi meant to tell them they never found out, because in that instant their ship ran hard up onto a submerged granite ledge. The bow seemed to rear like a frightened horse and the air was filled with the horrible sounds of scraping and rending and cracking wood. The oars, stacked on the gallows, were pitched forward like so many massive spears, falling and tumbling on either side. The shrouds that held the mast vertical snapped like threads and the massive spar broke five feet up from the deck, teetered, then came down on the starboard bow, crushing the uppermost strakes under its weight.
Odd was flung forward and he stumbled and tried to keep his footing, but failed. He went down, hands first, and was met by a great surging wave as the water filling the bilge came rushing aft. He spluttered and spit and pushed himself back up to his knees and then onto his feet.
The rest of the men and women aboard had been similarly thrown to the deck or knocked against the sides of the ship. Some were standing again, some heaving themselves up, some pulling the scattered oars off their fellows. Others were still sprawled in the bottom of the boat.
The bow of the ship was pointed up at an unnatural angle, but then it began slowly dropping, like someone easing themselves into bed. For a moment Odd thought the ship was slipping back into the sea, which would be a very bad thing, given that the bottom was clearly stove in. But then he saw that he was wrong. The ship was not sliding; the keel and the strakes were splitting as the vessel broke in two, the forward end falling and draping itself over the ledge on which it had run.
“Ha!” Bragi called, and Odd turned to see the burly man pushing himself back onto his feet after having been flung clean off the small deck aft. “Huginn, what’s that?”
Huginn was at the base of the mast, untangling himself from the twisted ropes that had torn free. “Reckon that’s nine, now!” he called.
“Nine! Well, let’s see any son of a bitch beat that!” It took Odd a moment, but he realized that Bragi must be referring to the number of ships he had wrecked. Bragi Shipslayer. He sounded positively delighted.