CHAPTER TWELVE VARG

CHAPTER TWELVE

VARG

V arg became aware of sensations, sounds, the smell of old onions and his breathing loud and magnified inside the sack tied over his head, his feet scuffing the ground, firm hands under his arms, half carrying him, half dragging him. A rhythmic, thumping pain in his head. He opened his eyes, but it was just darkness and for a moment he panicked, thought he was blind, but then realised it was the sack.

"This way," a muffled voice said and Varg was changing direction, heard hinges of a door grate and then the sound changed again, footsteps thudding on wooden floorboards. The hands holding him disappeared and he fell to his knees, heard grunts and thuds around him and the sack was being pulled from his head.

He was inside a wooden building, daylight leaking through gaps in the timber, the sound of lapping waves suggesting they were in a warehouse close to the docks. The man he had seen in the streets sat on a bench before him, a warrior draped in mail with a shield slung over his back, axe and seax at his belt, greasy fair hair tied at his nape, his beard thin. He stared at Varg with pale eyes, and Varg noted that he was not smiling now. A dozen or so warriors milled behind him, more behind Varg, others coming in the door. Someone threw a bundle of belts and weapons onto the table, Varg realising they were his, R?kia's and Svik's.

There were footsteps behind him and Svik and R?kia were dragged in and thrown to the ground beside Varg. Both their hands were bound. Svik was unconscious. R?kia snarled at everyone in the room, blood on her lips and chin.

"She's a wild one," a voice said, a warrior stepping around into Varg's sight. He was supporting a man with half his face torn and shredded. "Look what she did to Unlaf."

Unlaf groaned and he was helped to a chair.

"At least Unlaf's still breathing, that little shite there has spilled Idrun's guts all over the street," another warrior said, pausing to give Svik a kick in the ribs.

"Enough," the man sitting in front of Varg said. "You all knew the job, knew who Varg travelled with. That's why you're getting paid so well."

"Who … who are you?" Varg mumbled, his mouth feeling slow, unresponsive.

"Name's Sterkur," the man said. "You don't know me. But you do know him ." He pointed to a shadowed corner of the room. Varg allowed the wolf loose in his blood and his vision sharpened, the shadows shrinking, and he saw a man leaning against the timber wall. Tall and broad, a thick snarl of black beard on a weathered face, a scar down one cheek and carving through his lips. He wore a fur-trimmed hat and embroidered wool tunic, a seax hanging at his belt. He stepped out of the shadows into the half-light, his lips twisting into what passed for a smile.

"Leif Kolskeggson," Varg mumbled.

"Did you think that I would not find you? That I would allow you to live your life after you have murdered my father?" Leif said. His voice shook with barely contained fury.

"I did not murder him," Varg said. "He cheated me, lied to me."

"You are a thrall," Leif spat, leaning forwards, spittle spraying. "My father's property, my property. We could lie to you, beat you, kill you, and we are within the law to do so."

"Varg is no thrall," R?kia said, and spat a mouthful of someone else's blood on the floor.

Leif took another step closer and Sterkur put a hand out to stop him.

"Not so close," Sterkur said. "They are bound, but …"

R?kia smiled at them.

"You are all dead men walking," she said.

Svik groaned and moved, his eyes opening. He rolled onto his knees, put his bound hands up to his head and realised his hair had been torn loose from its braiding.

"You nieings are going to pay for messing my hair up," he snarled, looking the angriest Varg had ever seen him.

"See," R?kia laughed. It was unsettling, even to Varg.

"Did you think your new friends would protect you from me?" Leif said, looming over Varg. "They offer hard words, but they are on their knees, beaten and bound."

"Bound, yes," Svik said. "Beaten?" He smiled and shook his head.

Varg looked up at Leif and remembered the years of beatings, the mocking, the starvation, and how Leif had looked at his sister. The wolf in his blood gave a low-rumbling growl.

"I have long hoped we would meet again," Varg said, cold as winter.

Leif blinked at that. His mouth twisted in a sneer and he put his hand to the seax at his belt.

"You have come a long way, waited a long time for this moment," Svik said, looking Leif up and down.

"I have," Leif grunted.

"You should have combed and braided your beard, at least," Svik said, shaking his head and tutting. "A shame to die not looking your best."

"It is you who will be doing the dying," Leif said.

Voices passed by outside the warehouse and Sterkur stood, put a hand to the axe at his belt. All in the room were still, violence hanging in the air.

The voices passed by.

"It is not the voices you hear that should worry you," Svik said. "You will not hear Glornir when he comes for you, until it is too late. You have all sealed your fate." He looked around at the roomful of warriors and frowned. "Drunk, or insane?" he said.

"What are you talking about?" one of the warriors growled.

"Were you all drunk when you agreed to come after the Bloodsworn, or are you all insane?" Svik said. He looked closer at Sterkur.

"How much mead had you put down your throat when Leif rattled his purse of silver under your nose?"

"Just making a living," Sterkur said.

"Dying is not much of a living," Svik shrugged.

"Enough of this," Leif said, looking over his shoulder at the sound of people walking past the warehouse. "We should take them to your longship, Sterkur, and kill them there."

"Best to kill the other two now," Sterkur said. "Carrying one to the ship is less conspicuous than three." He drew the axe at his belt. "Hold her," he barked, and hands were grabbing R?kia, hauling her towards Sterkur. Varg launched himself forwards and bit into a woman's leg, a scream and others rushed to drag him off, blows raining down on him.

He was thrown to the floor, pinned down, cheek pressed tight to the timber. A shadow loomed over him and he saw a boot and the blade and shaft of a long-axe.

"Which one first, chief?" a voice said.

"Kill the bitch," Unlaf said from where he was still sitting, blood leaking through rents in his face.

"No, kill the little shite who slew Idrun," another voice said.

"You should kill me," Svik said. "Because if you do not I shall hunt you all down and kill each and every one of you arselings." He smiled pleasantly at them. "And I shall finish with you, you pale-eyed, goat-humping turd," he ended, smiling up at Sterkur.

"Easy choice, then," Sterkur said. "Kill him first."

Svik was dragged from the ground and hauled over to the table, his head slammed down onto the wooden boards, arms and shoulders held tight. The woman with the long-axe stepped close and raised the axe high.

"Wait," Svik shouted, and the axe hovered.

"If I am walking the soul road this day, at least let me go with all my fine hair intact. Hold it away from my neck, where this bitch will be cutting."

A chuckle from some of the warriors.

Svik looked at Sterkur. "We are all warriors here. Do not shame me."

"Do it, Norv," Sterkur said and a dark-haired warrior with a drooping moustache stepped in front of Svik and took hold of his loose hair, pulling it up over his head to reveal the flesh of his neck. Norv gave a yank on the hair, slamming Svik's head down onto the table.

The axe rose again.

"No!" Varg shouted but it was too late, the axe head was falling.

Svik's muscles bunched and he gave a savage wrench backwards. Norv was not expecting it and was dragged forwards, the axe slicing down, chopping into Norv's wrists, severing his hands and burying the blade deep into the table top. Norv screamed, holding up his severed wrists, staring at them, blood jetting. Svik twisted in the grip of those who held his arms, both of them loosening their hold for a moment and Svik kicked the legs out from beneath one of them, dragging them both tumbling to the floor.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Sterkur was bellowing and warriors were descending upon Svik.

R?kia nudged Varg, jutted her chin at the far wall.

Varg's wolf-ears heard a snuffling sound and then a growl.

He smiled.