CHAPTER TWO GUÐVARR

CHAPTER TWO

GUDVARR

G uevarr woke with a sharp hiss, half sitting up from his bedroll on the ground. He had been dreaming, of battling dragons and eagles, of the gaping jaws of an úlfhéenar snapping at his throat and of creatures burrowing into his flesh. He dragged up the sleeve of the ringmail coat he had slept in and the woollen tunic beneath it and saw the scabbed scar on his arm, where the hyrndur had burrowed into his flesh upon the word of Skalk, Queen Helka's Galdurman, and where it had burrowed back out, commanded by the will of a god. The scab was starting to peel off, and there was no pain other than the horror that the memory stirred in his chest.

I'm safe now , he reassured himself, taking a few breaths to calm his racing heart , I have the protection of Lik-Rifa and not even the Gods themselves can challenge her successfully. He remembered Skalk giving life to the eagle bones of Orna and the frenzied battle above the skies when the two Gods had met in battle. It had been a day of betrayal and battle, of blood and ash. Of gods and monsters. Orna was nothing but bones again now. Skalk was gone, Helka dead and a dragon-god owned his fealty.

He was in the longhouse his aunt, Jarl Sigrún, had been given upon her arrival in Darl. The fire pit in the centre of the hall was being lit by thralls, light and shadow rippling across the room. Daylight seeped in from an open doorway, the silhouette and shadow of a drengr standing guard before it. All around him drengrs were rising.

For a moment it felt like he was back in Fellur village, his home, where all was simple, and safe.

I wish I were back there.

With a deep sigh he reached for his weapons belt and rose sluggishly, body aching and stiff, and buckled his belt over his brynja .

A door creaked and Jarl Sigrún emerged from her chamber, set apart at the far end of the longhouse. She saw Guevarr and beckoned him over to her.

"We are on a knife-edge," she said as he reached her. "We have been useful; you did much to aid Lik-Rifa yesterday. We must remind her of that."

"But carefully," Guevarr said, wiping a bead of snot from the tip of his nose. "She is proud and unpredictable, prone to … violent outbursts."

"Yes, carefully," Sigrún agreed. "But it is vital that we continue to be useful, you know her better – what will convince her?"

I am becoming a master of being useful , Guevarr thought. First, I had to remain useful to Skalk the Galdurman to stay alive, now I must do the same to a dragon-god.

"She likes flattery," Guevarr said, remembering how he had grovelled and pleaded for his life, and how he had seen her pleasure in the compliments he vomited from his mouth in an attempt to live a few moments more.

" Drengrs of Fellur village," Jarl Sigrún said, raising her voice for all in the hall to hear her, little more than thirty warriors left after yesterday's battle. "The world has changed. Gods walk the land and soar in the skies, and we must adapt if we are going to survive. You have sworn your oaths to me, trusted me. Trust in me now, and I shall lead you through this." She gave a rueful smile, the scar in her face twisting it into something less wholesome. "Perhaps we shall even come out of this better placed than if we fought for Helka against Jarl St?rr. Time will be the judge."

The drengr on guard duty at the longhouse door, a young warrior named Járn, stepped into the hall.

"People approach," he called out nervously. "And … other things …"

"Make ready," Jarl Sigrún said to Guevarr and her drengrs and they buckled on weapons and drew closer around her.

The drengr at the door stepped away and figures crowded through, a shadow blocking out the daylight.

As they stepped into the firelight Guevarr saw there was a man and woman leading, both dark-haired and clothed in good brynjas with swords and seaxes at their belts, the man carrying a spear. Behind them loped a handful of skraeling, their limbs too long for their grey-skinned bodies, muscles knotted like rope, crude weapons of iron in their fists or hanging from belts. A handful of tennúr flitted in the air behind them. One of them flew over to Guevarr and hovered in front of him. It smiled, revealing two rows of grindstone teeth.

Filthy little vermin , Guevarr thought as he looked at its rat-like body and too large mouth.

"Well met," Sigrún said, stepping forward. "I am Jarl Sigrún."

"I know who you are," the woman in black said. One of her eyes was blue, the other pale as clouded milk. She looked Sigrún up and down.

"And you are?"

"I am called Blóta," she said. "I am dragon-born. You are to come to the courtyard."

"What is happening in the courtyard?" Sigrún asked.

"Lik-Rifa has summoned all who fought yesterday. What she wants to do …" Blóta shrugged. "Who knows the mind of a god." She turned and walked away.

His aunt exchanged a look with Guevarr and he shrugged. Who knew what Lik-Rifa intended – she was as likely to eat them as reward them.

"With me," Jarl Sigrún said, striding after the warrior and her drengrs fell in behind her, Guevarr hurrying to remain at her side.

They left the longhouse, Guevarr pausing a moment when he saw the troll standing outside, waiting for the dragon-born. He was huge, gnarled and thick-skinned like an old oak, a wooden club studded with nails in his sledge-hammer hands. With a scowl and a grunt he turned and followed the two dragon- born warriors.

They walked down a street of hard-packed earth that led between rows of longhouses and smithies, joining a procession of people flowing towards the hall of the former Queen Helka: a building once crowned by Orna's bones had dominated this hill that the fortress was built upon. The road spilled into the courtyard and Guevarr looked around the ruin of the courtyard and remains of the hall as he walked through it. Bodies and debris had been cleared, but the ground was still torn and rent from the destruction that Lik-Rifa and Orna had caused during their savage contest. Feathers and unrecognisable heaps of flesh and bone were scattered across the ground, here and there dark patches of dried blood.

At the far end of the courtyard, before the steps to the feast hall, men and women were kneeling in a long row, fifty or sixty of them, wrists bound behind their backs, all of them drengrs , many of them bloodied, bearing wounds from yesterday's battle. Dragon-born and trolls stood over them.

Helka's drengrs , Guevarr realised, recognising some of them.

Lik-Rifa stood in her female form at the top of the steps to the feast hall, dark-haired, tall and regal, dressed in an ash-grey tunic trimmed with red. Fresh wounds scarred her face and arms, though, and one eye was swollen almost shut, mottled with bruises.

Interesting … she's not infallible then , Guevarr mused, then hurriedly shut down his thoughts in case she could read his mind. Two wooden pillars stood either side of her, the doors to the hall behind her ripped from the wall, one hanging, the other smashed to kindling. Half a wall reared skyward, thick timbers splintered, the roof completely gone. Warriors stood around her, all dark-haired and clothed in fine brynjas and war gear. Beside Lik-Rifa, Guevarr saw the hulking form of Drekr, though she stood taller than him, and beside Drekr his sister, Ilska the Cruel, chief of the Raven-Feeders.

No longer mercenaries for hire, they are honour-guard to a god now.

Vaesen were there, too, skraelings and trolls, tennúr and other things that Guevarr was unsure of. Just looking at them made him uncomfortable. More warriors lined the courtyard, many of them men and women, the dragon-worshippers that had always lurked in the shadows, now made bold by the coming of their queen.

Jarl Sigrún walked confidently behind the two dragon-born warriors, marching right up to the steps of the hall, where she stopped, Guevarr beside her, her drengrs behind. Sigrún looked up at Lik-Rifa, who stared back at her, and Jarl Sigrún bowed. Lik-Rifa stared unblinkingly, then her eyes moved on to Guevarr and held his gaze. He gulped and bowed to her, as his aunt had done, and a smile twitched at the edges of Lik-Rifa's lips, and she dipped her head, acknowledging them before her eyes moved on.

Many others were filling the courtyard, warriors and townsfolk, some coming at Lik-Rifa's summons, some out of awe and wonder, others herded by Lik-Rifa's followers. Guevarr saw jarl Glunn Iron-Grip, fair-haired, broad and squat, and jarl Svard the Scratcher, older, slimmer and taller, with a few score of their drengrs behind them being escorted into the courtyard by a ring of dragon-born, skraeling and dragon-worshippers. A handful of trolls strode before them, clearing a way through the gathering crowd none too gently. The prisoners were bought to stand close to Guevarr, Sigrún and her drengrs .

Lik-Rifa took a step forward and a hush fell over the courtyard.

"People of Darl, a new age has dawned, and you are privileged to behold it." She held her arms out wide. "You have a new queen. Not just of Darl, but of all Vigrie. Not some petty usurper, but a GOD." She roared the last word, her mouth growing broader and longer, the flash of a red maw and rows of razored teeth, spittle spraying. Then her face returned to normal, human proportions, a twitch and shudder running through her jawline and cheek.

"Many of you fought against me yesterday," she hissed, casting her baleful gaze across Glunn and Svard and their retinues of drengrs , and then to the warriors kneeling at the foot of the steps. "These are the drengrs of Helka, oathsworn to her. She is dead now, but these people are still sworn to her, or her bloodline." She sniffed. "Helka was slain by my loyal allies," she gestured to Guevarr and Sigrún.

"And her son, Hakon," Guevarr squeaked. "I slew him," he added.

"But one of Helka's brood lives on, I am told," Lik-Rifa said bitterly. She looked over her shoulder and Drekr stepped forward, leaned close to her.

"Estrid, Helka's daughter," Guevarr heard Drekr say.

"Yes, Helka's daughter. So, these warriors at my feet are still bound by their oaths of fealty." She sighed and shook her head.

"Kill them," she said.

There were shouts and screams for mercy from the drengrs , as trolls raised their clubs and brought them smashing down, blood spraying, bones cracking, flesh pulverised. The dragon-born stabbed, slashed and chopped with spears, swords, axes, a cacophony of screams and wails cut short and in a dozen heartbeats the drengrs were all dead, blood pooling into the hard-packed earth.

Guevarr took a step backwards and with the back of his hand wiped a fine spattering of blood from his cheek. Even Jarl Sigrún looked shocked, but recovered herself quickly.

"Bring them forward," Lik-Rifa gestured to jarls Glunn, Svard and their followers and they were pushed reluctantly towards the dragon-god.

"You two," Lik-Rifa said, pointing a long-nailed finger at Glunn and Svard. "Step closer."

The dragon-born parted and Glunn and Svard walked forwards, stopping close to Guevarr in front of Helka's executed drengrs .

"You are both jarls, I am told, who fought against me yesterday, because you had sworn oaths to Helka. Yes?"

"Aye," Glunn Iron-Grip said, looking up at Lik-Rifa.

"And you?" Lik-Rifa said, when Svard did not answer.

"I did," jarl Svard said. "But Helka is dead, and my oath does not bind me to her children." He looked nervously to the dead at his feet.

"Well, quite," Lik-Rifa said. "That point is exactly what I wished to discuss with you. Will you swear your oaths to me?"

"I will," Svard said quickly.

Glunn Iron-Grip sniffed and spat, looked back at his drengrs and then up at Lik-Rifa. "If I swear my oath to you, fight for you, perhaps bleed for you, what will you do for me?"

A muscle twitched in Lik-Rifa's cheek, then she smiled.

"I will make you mighty, and wealthy, and made famous by skálds for a thousand years. That is all you wish for, is it not?"

Glunn nodded. "Then I will swear my oath to you," he said.

"Good," Lik-Rifa said. Then she frowned. "But I do not think you are both worthy to serve me. Though perhaps one of you is …" She raised a hand. "Drekr, give them each a blade."

Drekr stepped forwards and drew his seax and short-axe from his belt, threw them down the stairs to land at the feet of Glunn and Svard.

They both stared at the weapons.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Show me who is worthy," Lik-Rifa said.

Glunn burst into motion, Svard a heartbeat later. Glunn swept up the seax as Svard reached for the axe and buried it to the hilt in Svard's belly. A grunt and Svard sagged, knees weak and Glunn ripped the seax free. Svard collapsed, twitched for a few moments, mouth moving, and then he was still.

Glunn leaned down and wiped the blade clean on Svard's tunic.

"It seems you are the worthy one," Lik-Rifa said. "Will that man's warriors follow you?"

Glunn looked back to his and Svard's drengrs . "They will. I have just fought a holmganga with their jarl and won. By the laws of holmganga they can seek no vengeance, no reprisal. All that was Svard's is now mine. So, yes, they will serve me. Won't you," he said to Svard's drengrs .

A ripple of "ayes" rang out.

"Good," Lik-Rifa said. "Now all this excitement has given me an appetite. You will come and eat with me. As will you," Lik-Rifa said, pointing at Sigrún. "And you, Guthlaf," she said, pointing at Guevarr.

It's Guevarr, you idiot , he corrected Lik-Rifa in his head, then felt a moment of fear. Can she read my thoughts? She is a god, after all.

But Lik-Rifa said nothing, just turned and walked through the ruined doors of Helka's Hall.

"Stay close," Sigrún whispered to him as she climbed the hall's steps.

With a sigh Guevarr followed her.

Into the dragon's den.