CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT ELVAR

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ELVAR

E lvar stood at the prow of the Wave-Jarl , Ulfrir at her side.

"Here," he said, "this is the place. This is the river."

"That is the River Falinn," Elvar said to him, looking at a wide estuary that bled into the sea, the banks to north and south of the river cloaked in a snarling tangle of forest.

"I do not know the new names of your rivers, but that is the Jarnvidr, and that river is the path to my den," Ulfrir said. He raised his head, as if tasting scents on the wind. "It is close," he said.

Elvar turned and yelled out orders to Sighvat, who gripped and leaned on the steering oar, and slowly he changed their course, guiding the Wave-Jarl in a great sweeping curl until they were rowing into the mouth of the River Falinn. Gytha blew a horn, ringing out across the waves to the fleet behind them and Elvar heard the call taken up, spreading through the war fleet like lit beacons, all shifting to follow the Wave-Jarl into the open jaws of the Iron Wood.

As they changed course the headwind they had been rowing into shifted until it was blowing behind them and Elvar barked out more orders, oars coming up in sprays of jewel-glinting droplets and shipped, stowed in oar-racks that ran along the deck's centre, the sail unfurled for the first time since they had left Snakavik, fresh-coated with sheep's fat to protect it from the sea-rot and catch and hold the wind better. The sail snapped and billowed, then grasped a fistful of wind and the Wave-Jarl was carving through the estuary, a mist of water spraying over the bow and leaving a spumed wake spreading behind it like white-tipped wings. Elvar grinned for the joy of it, and for a heartbeat or two almost forgot the pain of Grend's betrayal.

The Iron Wood had closed around them, banks drawing nearer, trees rearing tall as towers, boughs reaching like grasping hands across the river, straining to touch one another across the wide swirl of the water as the Wave-Jarl sliced through the current. After half a day of sailing upriver, Elvar had ordered a half-crew back to the oar-bench, both to speed their way as the wind began to dip, and to keep the longship from serpent-sly currents that lurked beneath the surface and could snatch the Wave-Jarl and toss it into the riverbank.

She strode along the deck, having just left Sighvat at the tiller, and saw Orv the Sneak leaning on the portside top-rail, staring into the gloom and snarl of woodland on the west bank.

"What do you see?" Elvar asked him as she walked to him.

"Shadows," Orv murmured. "Something is stalking us." He pointed and Elvar stared. The forest was a knot-twist of branch and vine, the undergrowth between the thick-trunked trees dense and as impenetrable as the night-dark shadows. And yet, as she stared, she did see movement, layers of darkness, the flicker of shadows within shadows, here and there a moment of dappled light on fur, the glint of eyes as fractured rays of daylight filtered through the canopy above.

"Wolves," Elvar said. "Many wolves." She looked to Ulfrir, who stood at the bow, staring upriver.

"Do you trust him?" Orv said with a frown.

"As much as I trust anyone," Elvar said, then immediately thought of Grend. "Trust is a trap, anyway. But Ulfrir has my collar about his neck. He cannot betray me, or attempt to cause me harm, or incite others to cause me harm."

"Well, that is good, because I do not trust him. All you can trust a wolf to do is mischief," Orv said. "Is the collar enough?"

"Well, I am still breathing," Elvar said with a shrug, "which Ulfrir would change if he could, for his freedom. Other than the blóe svarie , the blood oath, the Seier-made thrall-collar is the greatest insurance of obedience we have. The blood oath, that sneaky piece of shite-born Seier-magic, knows your thoughts. The thrall-collar will not allow you to commit an act of betrayal, but with the blood oath you cannot even think about betrayal."

Orv shivered. "Don't like the thought of that," he muttered.

"Anyway, even if Ulfrir managed to come up with some deep-cunning way of slaying me," Elvar continued, "he would still not be free. Broeir would become his master, because he is my blood kin. Just as my father's Berserkirs became mine upon my father's death." She glanced back to where longships and knarr filled the river, her brother made chief of one of the crews. It swelled her heart to see them, her war-host. Win or lose in this coming war, the skálds would sing of Elvar Fire-Fist's war fleet and how it had sailed to face the might of a dragon.

The howling of wolves shattered her thoughts and Elvar spun around to see that the trees were thinning on the western bank, a great hill rearing out of the forest. Ragged trees and thornbushes grew upon the hill's slopes, here and there what looked like the crumbling remains of vine-crusted towers, and upon the hill's crest wolves had gathered, standing silhouetted against the pale winter's sky. Hundreds of them, and all of them were howling. The sound swirled around the Wave-Jarl like a breeze, rising and falling, feeling as if it must fill all the world.

Elvar strode to Ulfrir.

"What is happening?" she snapped at him.

Ulfrir looked at her and smiled.

"They are welcoming me home," he said.

The Wave-Jarl turned a bend in the river, coiling around the hill. Elvar shouted for the sail to be furled and the mast taken down, Sólín Spittle hammering the mast-stop into the hole the mast had just been heaved from, and then they were scudding beneath a stone bridge.

The bank along the hill's edge dropped low, with what looked like fallen trees stabbing out from the bank into the river, but as the Wave-Jarl passed the first of them she realised that they were ancient, moss-covered piers.

"There," Ulfrir called as the river followed the curl of the hill, and Elvar saw two smaller promontories stretch out from the hill like slumped arms, a vale between them leading to a sheer, cliff-faced escarpment. A stone bridge and pier were set in the river directly opposite the slopes, mooring posts spread along it.

Elvar shouted orders and Sighvat guided the Wave-Jarl towards the pier, oars pulling at a slower rhythm. Skuld spread her wings, climbing into the air and she flew a looping circle above the Wave-Jarl and made for the pier, alighting upon it and running to one of the mooring stones.

"OARS," Elvar yelled, and the oars came up, were dragged back through the oar-holes and shipped and the Wave-Jarl slithered alongside the dock, hull scrapping on stone. Orv threw a rope to Skuld and she wrapped it around the mooring stone, the drakkar snugging up tight to the pier. Elvar took her shield from a rack, shrugged it across her back and climbed onto the top-rail, then leaped onto the ancient pier. She stood there a moment, looking back down the river where other longships were appearing and rowing to the piers that jutted out into the river, then Berak and a handful of her Berserkir were leaping from the Wave-Jarl to the dock and forming up around her. Gytha came next with a score of drengrs , moving down the pier, fanning out to search the undergrowth and shadows.

Elvar looked to Ulfrir, who was still stood in the bow.

"Come, then, Ulfrir-wolf," Elvar said.

Gracefully he climbed onto the top-rail and stepped over onto the pier, his handful of úlfhéenar following him. As Ulfrir set foot on the ancient stone the howling of wolves stopped, echoes of their song fading to silence.

All from the Wave-Jarl were disembarking now, Sighvat, Orv, Sólín Spittle and the rest of the Battle-Grim settling around Elvar. Drengrs carried Hrung from his pedestal on thick wooden beams, Hrung's eyes staring up at the hill, looking at the wolves gathered on the hill's brow.

"Noisy bunch, aren't they," he grumbled. "I was having a wonderful dream, about having a body and legs."

Behind Hrung, Silrie emerged from the awning on the Wave-Jarl 's deck, leading Grend by a leather leash that was buckled around the iron collar about his neck. Grend looked at Elvar and she looked away, the guilt, despite his betrayal, gnawing at her.

"So this is the home of a wolf-god," Sighvat said. "Just looks like a big hill to me."

"Looks can be deceiving," Uspa said as she came to stand beside Elvar.

Silrie stepped onto the pier, Grend following, and she walked over to Elvar.

"What would you have me do with him, Jarl Elvar?" Silrie asked her.

"Follow us," Elvar said. "Once we are inside this wolf-den we should be able to find a gaol for him."

"You do not need to do this," Grend said to her, looking at the rope that still bound his wrists, and raising his hands to touch the leash that hung from his neck. "You know I will not betray you."

Elvar looked at him, saw that his wounds were healing, his eye still swollen, but he could open it now.

"You already have," she said to him, then walked away, moving to stand beside Ulfrir.

"Lead on," she said to Ulfrir, and he strode down the dock, Skuld falling in at his shoulder, his úlfhéenar behind him, Elvar and all with her following in their wake.

The pier spilled onto a road covered with vine and a thin layer of dirt, but Elvar kicked at it and saw that beneath the soil it was paved with stone. The road led straight into the vale between the two promontories that arched out from the hill and Ulfrir marched down it, drew up before the sheer escarpment, looking up at its heights at the wolves silhouetted across its heights, looking down upon them.

"Wait here," Ulfrir said and strode on another score of paces. He stopped before the cliff face that rose sheer before him, two huge boulders set at either side of the escarpment. All was covered in creeping vine. He looked up at the steep-sloped cliff, twisted his neck one way so that it clicked, then the other.

"úlfab?li, mitt forna heimili, opinberaeu varemenn tína, opinberaeu tín fornu hlie," Ulfrir cried out, his voice unnaturally loud, ringing and echoing, slowly fading to silence.

Elvar felt a vibration in the ground beneath her feet, a wind swirling through the woods, trees rustling and scraping, boughs creaking, the wind rising, whipping white foam across the river and then it was hurtling across the pier, funnelled between the two promontories of the hill and sweeping around her, lashing at her like a sea-storm, tugging and tearing at her braided hair, the hem of her woollen tunic, all those around her swaying and bracing themselves. The ground trembled and the wind hurled itself across the boulders either side of Ulfrir, scouring them of the vine that coated them and continued up the cliff face, the rock trembling and shuddering, vine falling in great clumps, shaken and torn away, a huge cloud of dust exploding, enveloping Elvar and all about her. She coughed, covering her face with her bearskin cloak.

There was a ripple of cracking sounds, like bones breaking but louder. The dust had settled; Ulfrir was standing staring up at the rock face. Now that the vine and layers of dirt were gone, Elvar could see the outline of great stone doors, snarling wolf-heads carved into each one. But that was not where her eyes were drawn, not where the cracking sound was coming from.

The two stone boulders were moving, juddering, unfurling, legs appearing, huge snarling faces and then two stone-carved wolves were standing before the great gates, their lips pulled back, teeth bared, hackles raised, eyes glowing amber in their grey-stone faces.

The outline of Ulfrir shimmered, a pale glow about him as his form shifted, began to grow. A series of popping cracks as he fell to all fours, his muzzle lengthening, fur sprouting, a tail growing, the air about him rippling like a heat haze and he was standing in his wolf-form, big as a mead hall before the gates and stone wolves.

He threw his head back and howled, the sound of it crashing upon Elvar like a sudden summer storm, people around her raising their hands to cover their ears. The two stone wolves raised their heads and howled, too, adding their voices to Ulfrir's, and the wolves gathered at the top of the hill joined in the baying, until the whole world must have rung with it.

There was a great grinding, more dust and stone exploding from the stone gates as they rumbled open, stone grating, unseen hinges creaking until the doors lay wide open, an ancient, musty odour wafting out from within the open doors.

Ulfrir turned and looked down at them with amber-glowing eyes, the wind dying, sifting his fur.

"Welcome to my home," he growled.