Islands in the Fog (27 page)

Once the ships had launched past the incoming tide, Kjotve ordered one to scout the way ahead, with the other ships following.

"Do you think he still expects trouble?" Snorri asked. He sat across from Ulfrik.

"The way to markets are always lined with thieves and pirates. I'd do the same." Both men drifted into silence as the ship swayed beneath the blue sky. Gulls cried merrily above them, as if mocking their captivity.

"Do you think Einar and Gerdie will be all right?" Ulfrik asked Snorri. The thought came to mind as soon as he had asked.

"Yeah. Gerdie is strong and Einar smart. I was just a man to fill the hole in their lives for a while. They don't need me now."

"Don't say that, Snorri. You are a great man, and they needed you."

"It's better to forget the past. We'll be in Dublin tomorrow morning, and probably on the slave blocks a few days later. No use thinking about whatever went before."

The men nearby grumbled their agreement with Snorri. He looked at the others and smiled. "Maybe we'll find a home with a kind master who needs help milking his cows and tending his flocks. I wouldn't mind it, to be honest. As long has he doesn't try to beat me. If that happens, I'll be hanged for strangling the bastard."

"We won't be tending pigs," said another. "We're too strong, too good for it. We'll row a trader's ship all across the world, then be captured and resold. It'll go on until we die."

No one argued the prospect. Everyone silently accepted the prediction, fearing the worst. Ulfrik felt a lump growing in his throat. He cleared it, scanning the men as he waited for their attention.

"I am honored that you followed me to this fate. No one could have asked for more loyal men. Fate is strange and still hidden from us. If ever there is a way for me to repay you, I will do so. No matter how we die, it will be how we lived that matters. Each day lived, even in slavery, is proof of your honor and bravery. Your battles will be fought with your hearts, and not with swords. The gods know it, they see it now, and will welcome you to the feasting hall when you die."

Heads bowed and nodded, a few attempted to conceal their tears. Ulfrik met Snorri's gaze and his old friend smiled. "You have never let me down. Not since you were a boy. I am proud to have kept my oath to you."

Ulfrik did not know what to say. He flashed a quick smile, then studied the deck.

Hours passed. The worry among the captives kept them pensive. The crew were at their tasks, ever scanning the horizon. The constant sway and gentle winds lulled Ulfrik into drowsiness. His head bobbed several times as he fought to remain awake.

He glanced around, seeing they were passing an island close on the starboard side. Over the port side, the stern faces of the Orkney cliffs frowned in the noontime sun. The sails were full and snapped in the wind. Their pace was steady, inexorable he felt, ever drawing them south to Dublin. He craned his neck and saw the lead ship ahead.

"Enemy ships!"

Ulfrik heard the call from another of Kjotve's ships. Suddenly everyone, crew and slaves, were on their feet and seeking the source of the warning.

Fearsome, high-sided ships streamed out from behind the small island on the starboard side. Their crews rowed furiously, the oars flashing manically as they stroked the waters. The lead ship had a dragon's head on the prow, and dark figures bristled in the forecastle.

Kjotve roared. "Man the oars! Hurry!"

The crew leapt to action. They snatched oars off the rack, fitted them to their holes and rowed. The ship jumped forward and Ulfrik had to steady himself on the man whose foot was bound to his own.

"The dogs caught us after all," Snorri said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Bastards knew we'd pass this point. Probably rowed all night to get here first."

"They own these waters," Ulfrik said. He watched the ships glide across the sea like gulls skimming the water. He counted eight ships, five large enough to hold fifty or more men. The smaller ships raced to encircle Kjotve's while the large ones plowed an unerring straight line toward them.

"It's not Harald Finehair's ship," Ulfrik observed. Kjotve was screaming for speed, looking over his shoulder at the ever-nearing enemy. "At least not the one I remember. But it's the same trick that fooled Kjotve at Hafrsfjord, though he's not getting away today."

He felt calm, at odds with the crew who strained against their oars. He knew Kjotve's attempt to flee would fail. The size of the enemy sails alone would let them outstrip him, never mind the extra speed the oars provided. He expected the battle; even weaponless and bound at the feet, he anticipated the fight. The battle song began to beat in his heart, flowing with his pulse through his body.

If he had any chances of freedom left, this would be the last one.

The large ships were already nipping Kjotve's rearguard and the sleek, fast moving ships were herding Kjotve on the port side. Ulfrik recognized the precision and practice at work in the enemy's movements.

"Listen to me." Ulfrik addressed the slaves openly, knowing Kjotve and his crew were preoccupied. "We are going to be caught. Some of you might not be familiar with a sea battle." He looked at several of the scared men and women who were not his own people. "First they're going to sweep the decks with arrows. If you want to live, tuck yourself into the gunwale closest to the firing ship. You will have the best chance there. Kjotve's crew will try to use us to shield themselves. Fight them if they do. Fight for Kjotve's enemy and hope he will recognize it and reward us later."

Kjotve's roar broke Ulfrik's speech. "Fate be damned! If they want a battle, then let the Bear of Agder teach them how it's done!"

Ulfrik shuddered at the name Kjotve gave himself. His son, Thor Haklang, had been a berserker. If even half of that came from Kjotve, then the enemy would have a difficult fight. Ulfrik saw two ships were already caught and the enemy ships lashed to them with hooked ropes.

"Tie up the slaves!" Kjotve ordered. He abandoned the tiller and opened his sea chest, pulling out a mail coat.

Men rushed to the chore, roughly shoving Ulfrik and the others into a group and hastily tying their hands. When it came to Ulfrik, the man pulled the bindings painfully tight. "Don't need you leading a fight against us," he added as he checked the bonds.

When the man turned away, Ulfrik shoved against him and sent him sprawling to the deck. "You couldn't fight me with both my feet and hands tied off. I bet you couldn't even get your cock up with the women last night."

Snorri intuitively got the idea and head butted the man tying his hands. In an instant, discipline vanished and the crew were fighting with Ulfrik and the other slaves. The brawl lasted only a moment, in which time Ulfrik had taken two solid punches in his face. But it was worth it.

Finally donning his mail, Kjotve waded into his crew and slammed them back. "What are you doing, you sheep-fucking fools? Get ready to be boarded!"

Kjotve's face flushed red and his eye were as wide as a maddened horse. He shoved Ulfrik away, and his back flared in pain as he struck the mast, but he only laughed. He had succeeded. The enemy ship now glided alongside and Kjotve and his crew were not prepared.

"Arrows!" Someone shouted the obvious. A line of men on the enemy ship lowered their bows. They were close enough to pick their targets. Ulfrik saw men twirling hooked ropes, ready to snare Kjotve's ship and draw it in.

He dove forward as bow strings thrummed and arrows screamed across the short gap. The shafts plunked into the wood of the deck and mast, and many plunged into the flesh of men. Ulfrik pressed against the gunwale. Bound hand and foot he felt more like a bale of hay than a warrior.

But the gods had awarded him his final chance. They desired more entertainment, more surprises from Ulfrik. He expected not to disappoint them.

Bodies collapsed to the deck inches from Ulfrik. Black feathered arrows jutted from their corpses. He had reacted swiftly, as did his men, practiced in battle unlike the farmers. They hesitated and arrows impaled them alongside Kjotve's stone-footed crew. They died one atop the other.

Ulfrik squeezed tighter to the gunwale. The second volley hissed across the gap and more shrieks preceded the thud of bodies on the deck. He heard the grappling hooks biting into the ship, felt the sudden tilt as men hauled alongside.

A counter volley streamed overhead. Across the deck from Ulfrik, over the port gunwale, another of Kjotve's ships had lashed to Kjotve's while archers neutralized the enemy's shooting. Ulfrik recognized the battle platform, three ships tied together for the two enemies to fight. Already Kjotve's other crew were leaping the rails to reinforce their companions.

Overhead, the enemy jumped aboard. Kjotve's bear roar went up, and for a moment Ulfrik saw the giant man raise his ax. He looked like he would cleave the ship with one strike. He disappeared behind others joining the fight.

Then chaos. The enemy passed overhead, colliding with waiting defenders. Grunts ended in cries. Iron clanged on iron. Blood flowed to the deck, running in streams toward Ulfrik.

He struggled against his bonds. A body wedged him into the gunwale. It was one of the other slaves, weaponless and useless to Ulfrik. He growled in frustration.

Then someone grabbed his hands and pulled them up.

Ingrid hunched over him, hair hanging in clumps over her face. Blood smeared her dress and a rend revealed a gash in her thigh. She brandished a knife.

Ulfrik swallowed and met her eyes. For a moment he saw the eyes of his enemy, the man he would kill if the gods allowed. Then he blinked. She became a worn, tired woman who grimaced in pain. "You will kill him?"

He nodded, not knowing if he agreed to killing Hardar or Kjotve. He was relieved at her smile. Bringing the knife to his hands, she sawed at his bonds. "Make him suffer. Avenge me."

The bonds snapped away, and she cut the rope at his feet. He shoved aside the body that had blocked him, searching for others of his crew. Snorri was already loose and freeing others.

Enemies still leapt from their ship, forming a mass that pressed toward the forecastle. Ulfrik saw Kjotve, a giant among his crew, clad in bright mail and wielding a bloody ax. He was a man of legend, Ulfrik did not doubt. But as Ingrid released him from his final bond, he paused before standing.

The enemy leader now joined at the back of his men. He made Kjotve small in every way. He stood two heads taller than any other man. His build was slender but powerful. His mail and sword blazed in the high sun. The man commanded by sheer presence alone. His hirdmen held close to him, guarding his flanks. But no one challenged him as he melted into the center of the battle.

Snorri dragged Ulfrik to his feet, put a sword into his hand. "Already the deck is full of shields and weapons. Let's join the fight and die as warriors!"

Scattered in twisted piles lay Kjotve's crew, swords still in their sheaths and shields just out of reach. Arrows poked out like quills on their corpses. Ulfrik snatched a plain shield and pointed his sword at Kjotve. "For freedom and vengeance!"

Battle was thickest in the fore, where Kjotve roared and his picked men hewed their attackers like fire wood. But the aft swelled with fighting men. Ulfrik chose to lay into these men first.

The weariness of fear and the pain of his wounds no longer burdened him. The battle song pulsed through his body and he became lithe and free. His blade darted into the gaps between shields, returning blood slicked. Men screamed when he slashed. He roared his frustration, seeking the familiar faces of his tormentors.

An enemy clashed with him, but Ulfrik caught the blow on his shield. "I'm with you!" he screamed, but the man was mad with battle lust. Ulfrik slashed beneath his shield, his blade turning on the man's mail coat. Ulfrik slammed his shield into the enemy's face, then stabbed down into his thigh below the hem of the mail.

The man skittered away into the mayhem. Snorri emerged from the throng, his white hair matted with gore and his face wild with joy. He howled and threw himself back into the fray.

An arrow thumped into Ulfrik's shield, and he instinctively ducked. A sword passed through where his head had just been. Ulfrik rammed his sword into the body that had leapt in front of him. He did not see his enemy's face, but heard him scream as he crumpled to the deck. Blood sloshed like foamy red water. Bodies flopped as the ship rocked and men struggled to stand and fight.

Kjotve had fought his way out of the forecastle. The slain piled around him and his hirdmen like a tide mark. The enemy king, for that is what Ulfrik knew he must be, fought with skillful ferocity. Kjotve, it seemed to him, wanted to avoid the king and escape to his other ship. But the enemy had pinned him and his hirdmen to the gunwales.

Ulfrik grabbed the men beside him. They were not his own, but they responded to his command. "Get to the other ship and cut off his retreat. He will back into us and be doomed."

The enemy men exchanged glances and then followed Ulfrik. He bounded over the rails, landing on the opposite deck. He slid on the blood clinging to his feet. One of Kjotve's crew charged him as he struggled to keep his balance. Seeing the threat, he let himself fall back. The attacker stumbled past, and Ulfrik kicked into his feet. His legs entangled, the attacker tumbled and the others following Ulfrik skewered him to the deck. One paused to help him stand.

Now Kjotve's men were escaping over to where they expected no resistance. But Ulfrik and his small crew stood prepared to cut them down. Kjotve was effectively trapped between both ships. His roar of frustration rose above the thunder of battle. Men stumbled screaming into the water to be swallowed below.

Now the enemy king and Kjotve clashed. Ulfrik burned for revenge. Hot anger at the enemy king flashed through Ulfrik's limbs. Kjotve was his alone to kill. He deserved it. With a battle cry, he jumped back upon the rails. "For Nye Grenner! Kjotve, your death is come!"

He hovered on the rail, heedless of falling into the water. The two ships bucked together as men fought across the ships. Ulfrik stood above the combat, shield feathered with arrows and sword dripping with gore. The two giant leaders battled at the center of the knot of warriors. Kjotve had discarded his ax in the close fight, now slashing with a short blade. Breaking away from the enemy king, he cleared the rails and landed on the opposite deck.