Wolfskin (46 page)

“New place, new rules,” grunted the older guard.

“You're not in Rogaland now, Wolfskin,” growled the other. “Best be off with you before we decide to lock you up for the night. Go find food and
shelter. Living wild so long has addled your wits, I think. Go on.” His eyes flicked nervously to the axe, and back to Eyvind's face.

Food and shelter; somewhere in the back of his mind Eyvind knew he was hungry. He could not remember when he had eaten last. Somewhere inside him was a profound longing to lay his aching body down on a comfortable pallet and surrender to dreamless sleep until morning.

“I won't stop,” he told them. “As you said, Somerled needs me. Best head off now.” Quickly, before they could change their minds about letting him go, before they could discover how little strength he really had, he strode away into the darkness. He managed to walk like a Wolfskin, straight, fast, confident, until the guards were well behind him and out of sight. After that, the pretense that he was himself again became too hard. Perhaps he should have stopped and rested first. But there was no time.

 

Eyvind staggered onward. After a while, the cool light of a half moon aided him, and he followed sheep tracks and stone dykes, trying to keep his course northwestward, back the way he had come. He tried to rehearse what he would say, but his mind was in a small circle of its own now, a pattern that said over and over,
Let Nessa be safe. Let me be there in time.

He stumbled on, falling, picking himself up, falling again. Once, when he caught his foot on a rock and sprawled headlong, he simply lay there in the dark, face down on the hard earth, wondering how he could ever be strong enough to do what must be done. Nessa was strong, and she was only a slip of a thing, insubstantial as a lovely shadow. Brother Tadhg was strong, yet he was a small, weedy fellow plainly ill suited to tests and trials. That should mean something. Rona was strong, too; she was old and frail, yet she had made that decision to go away into danger and free him for this mission. She had sheltered him at great risk. He thought of them and felt the earth beneath him, holding him safe. There was something small and hard under his chest, pressing against him: Nessa's gift, the mystery of being encompassed in the space of a cupped hand. Eyvind rose shakily to his feet. He looked across the moonlit folds of land and up into the great starry expanse of sky, and then he began to walk again.

The distance seemed endless. At some point there was a small stream-let fringed by grasses and ferns; he stopped to drink, and tried to judge how far he had come, and how much time had passed, but he was too weary to calculate either. The best he could do was keep moving forward, and hope.

It was still dark when he stumbled over the bodies of Engus's sentries, each slain quickly and, he suspected, silently, so they could not alert others. The moonlight shone on their tunics of bold red and blue and green, on their dark eyes open in surprise and the blood staining the earth beneath them. The killing had a Wolfskin's mark on it, efficient, professional. There would have been no running to raise the alarm, no signaling the isolated settlement on the Whaleback with smoke or flame, with flag or banner or shouts of warning. By now, perhaps, Engus's folk were sleeping, worn out by prayers and tears, little dreaming what horror the dawn might bring. Eyvind had passed the western margin of the big loch, and now, not so far off, he could hear the great, deep roar of the sea. He forced his feet to move more quickly, knowing he must be close to the headland that jutted out toward the Whaleback, knowing somewhere near at hand Somerled and his forces must be waiting for first light. He was no longer tired, though every corner of his body seemed to have its own particular kind of pain. Something was keeping him awake, something was keeping him moving, the same thing that made his thoughts swarm and seethe in his head.
Let him listen to me,
he told himself.
Just let him listen.

He heard them just before they moved in, one on each side and one looming up before him, quick as some wild predators. There was just time to say, “Friend—” before a hand was clapped over his mouth, and his arms were improbably twisted behind his back. Pain scythed through his shoulders; he could guess who had grabbed him. Once, he would have heard them earlier; once, he would have put up a good fight against any man foolish enough to try to attack him thus. Now he could barely stay on his feet. The moon had hidden behind a cloud; he hoped they would not kill him as they had those others, before they saw who he was.

“What's this?” hissed Grim's voice in his ear, and the vicelike hold was abruptly released. It was, perhaps, the sheer size of the captive that had revealed his identity. “Eyvind?” The tone was of incredulous joy.

“Great Thor!” Erlend removed his large hand from Eyvind's mouth and gripped him by the shoulders instead, his touch now speaking welcome, not capture. “It is you!” He was holding his voice low; the darkness and the hush told of a covert camp, the preparation for dawn's surprise attack. “By all the gods, they told us you were a walking corpse, a thing of light and shadow to be seen only in visions! This is wondrous!”

“Where have you been?” Holgar asked sharply. “Where have you come from?”

“I have to speak to Somerled. Now, straightaway. It's urgent.”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Grim whispered. “Come on then, he's not far off. Now that's a man will be even gladder to see you than we are. He thought the islanders had accounted for you that day at Ramsbeck, and dragged your body away to feed the carrion.”

“We're sure of victory now,” Erlend said, grinning fiercely. “Thor's hammer, I can hardly wait. My blood boils in anticipation, my heart beats as it did on the longship's prow, with Danes in sight across the whale's way. Four of us together in the vanguard; four of us screaming Thor's name and wielding bright weapons together! I've a great thirst on me for blood, lads.”

“It's been a long time coming,” grunted Grim. “That was an endless winter. Spring will be glorious; we'll wipe out this scum and set our own names on the land as we should have long since. Our own names: our own king.”

“Somerled,” Eyvind said. “Take me to Somerled. Now.” He saw the three of them exchange glances; it seemed to him he could see more with each moment that passed, as if dawn were not so far off. Gods, had it taken him all night to walk here? An infant could have done it quicker. Why were they frowning? Had he said something wrong, had he shown some sign of weakness? He held his head high, his back as straight as he could; he willed his legs to carry him on.

Somerled had made his headquarters in one of the fishermen's cottages near the point. There were no lamps lit, but the sky was perceptibly lighter now. Armed men waited in total silence all around the cottage, and Eyvind could see them deployed along the shore, keeping down behind crumbling stone wall or low scrubby bush, invisible to any sentry who might be patrolling the shores of the Whaleback. A forest of spears, a wall of swords, a deadly rain of arrows. Odin's bones, nearly every Norseman able to draw arms must be here save Thord and Eirik, who had strangely not been called. This force would surely outnumber anything Engus could maintain in the small settlement on the Whaleback by three to one.
Let her be safe.

He went in silently, unannounced. “Somerled?”

In the shadows within the hut Somerled's white face jerked around toward him, Somerled's dark eyes widened, and then, something Eyvind had never seen before, Somerled's features were transformed by a dazzling, joyful smile.

“Eyvind! Thor be praised!” Somerled took two steps forward and threw his arms around his friend in a strong, brief embrace. “They told me you were slain; then they said you were a ghost. I cannot believe this! It is
surely a miracle that you are here now, at precisely the time when we most have need of you. Where have you been? You're a mere shadow of yourself, old friend. What have they done to you? Come, sit here awhile. We still have a little time left.”

“Somerled—” Eyvind's voice shook. He took another breath. “Somerled, I have some information for you, it's important. I will answer your questions later. I must give you some news. This invasion cannot go ahead; you must call your men back.”

There was a little silence.

“What?” asked Somerled quietly.

“There's been a death on the Whaleback: the king's sister. These people are in mourning, conducting her funeral rites this very night. You can't attack now, Somerled. Everyone knows there must be truce at such times. You must withdraw and leave these folk in peace to bid their kinswoman her farewells.”

There was a longer silence.

“Where have you been, Eyvind?” There was an edge to Somerled's tone now; his eyes had narrowed.

“I–I can't remember. I can't remember anything since Ramsbeck.”

“Then how did you come by this information?”

“I heard it as I journeyed here: a couple of fellows traveling by the wayside.”

“Really. You never were very good at subterfuge, were you? Much more the smiting axe and piercing sword type of man. Never mind. I am so pleased to see you alive and by my side, I'm prepared to forgive much, even an ill-considered attempt to protect those who are our sworn enemies. Your news is no news to me, Eyvind. I'm already aware of this death. Indeed, I have chosen my time quite deliberately, knowing it gives me great strategic advantage.”

“How can you say that?” Eyvind stared at him aghast. “Jarl Magnus would never have disregarded the rules of fair engagement thus. Ulf would never have sanctioned such a shameful attack. Are you a coward, that you must move against these folk when they are at their most vulnerable?”

“What did you say?”

Eyvind had heard that tone before, but never used against himself. It set a chill on him. “You heard what I said, Somerled. Besides, you made King Engus an offer. He was to answer on the first day of spring, and that day has not yet come. Have you forgotten every rule a leader of Rogaland lives by? Have you put aside every law?”

“If you've lost your recall of everything since Ramsbeck, how can you possibly know of any offer I may have made to this barbarian leader?” Somerled's tone was smooth as silk. “This game is far beyond your limited understanding, Wolfskin. And it hurts me deeply to hear you speak thus, as if you scorn my efforts to achieve my life's goal. Did not you yourself encourage me to keep my dream in sight? Did you not counsel me to hold on to my vision, when I was in despair? I thought you shared my aspirations, Eyvind. I thought we would move on together, the king and his valiant war leader. Then you were lost to me, or so I believed; from that day on I vowed to keep striving for the prize, in memory of your courage and loyalty. Now you are restored to me, wonderfully, miraculously, beyond all hope. I am alone no longer. Yet you speak strangely, and you wound me. It is as if…it is as if you despise me.”

Somerled's voice was unsteady; he seemed almost on the verge of weeping. Eyvind could see that lost child again, the friendless boy who had slashed his arm in the forest and challenged him to be a brother.

“The attack must go on,” Somerled said. “The men are balanced on a knife edge; they're hungry for battle. It's too late to back out now. I'd have a riot on my hands. They respect me, Eyvind. They like my way of doing things. And it seems to me this kingship can only be won by finishing Engus and his pathetic warriors once and for all. He simply can't be allowed to live, nor can his son or any of his kinsmen. I will spare the women, to the extent possible. Eyvind, I'm detecting a definite change in the light. We're running short of time, old friend. Will you stand beside me in battle? Will you be my chief Wolfskin as we planned so long ago?”

Eyvind closed his eyes a moment, summoning what strength he could find. He was going to have to say it, and rob his friend of this victory. He would have to threaten Somerled with the loss of everything that fierce, lonely child had ever striven for. His hand moved to his breast, where Nessa's gift lay under his tunic, next to his heart. “These men will not follow you when they learn you killed your brother so you could take what was his for yourself,” he said quietly. He waited, a cold sweat breaking out all over him, while Somerled stood staring back at him. Now it was Somerled who looked away first, folding his arms and frowning.

“This is very foolish, Eyvind,” he observed levelly. “I don't think you realize just how foolish.”

“I have evidence, and I will not hesitate to use it. Call off this attack or I will tell the world what you have done. I don't care what happens to me,
Somerled. You can do what you like. Just call off the advance. It's not dawn yet, you still have time.”

“What evidence?” Somerled snapped. “Show me! This is nonsense, Eyvind. I'm sure you have simply got things mixed up again, you do tend to do that—”

“Here.” Eyvind stretched out his open hand; on it he showed Ulf's belt buckle, entangled in its bloodstained network of knotted cords. An instant too late, his fingers closed to keep it secure, but Somerled already held it in his hand.

“Where did you find this?” he hissed.

“Perhaps you have forgotten that it was I who descended the cliff to retrieve your brother's body,” Eyvind said. “I would have returned this, but I forgot. Then I was…away. You recognize these knots, don't you? They are not my work, and so they must be your own. Perhaps, that long morning, you watched your brother die as once you relished the slow torture of the rabbit in the snare. What will your men think of their fine leader when they know that? What will they think when they learn it was you who ordered the burning that killed Hakon and his family? There's a certain cleverness about that, the setting up of crimes so you can blame your enemy for them. That makes it much easier to turn the tide of opinion against him. No wonder these men hate, no wonder they long to sink sword in flesh, hew head from shoulders. Those killings have your mark on them. I have known you a long time, and I recognize it plainly. Call off the attack, Somerled. Call it off now, and I will keep silence. It is another chance for you, a chance to set your feet on the right way.” He looked into his friend's dark eyes, and saw the same eyes staring back: intense, single-minded, as a thin, pale boy dragged his injured companion to safety down the impossible slopes of the hillside at Hammarsby. Surely that spark of goodness, of greatness, was still there, deep down. Surely such promise did not wither and die. Somerled had shown him kindness as a child and friendship as a man, for all his odd ways. Surely he must listen now.