CHAPTER FORTY-TWO VARG

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

VARG

V arg shipped his oar and the Sea-Wolf skimmed across the river, gliding close to Sulich's knarr . Ropes were hurled across, men and women heaving, dragging the two ships together.

"It is time for your crew to choose," Glornir called across to them, Vol at his side. He held a sack in one fist, "To wear the collar or not."

Sulich jumped onto his top-rail.

"Only Iva wishes to wear the collar, and Taras, too," he called out.

"Taras do what Iva do," the big man called from where he was sitting on a barrel in the stern. Iva walked to stand close to Sulich.

"If I wear the collar I will be able to use my blood-gifts," she said. "I think where we are going we will need them." She shrugged. "And besides, Jarl Orlyg saw me wielding the runes. My only condition," she added, "is that you do not sell me to him."

Glornir grunted a laugh.

"That will not happen," he said. He reached into the sack that he was carrying and pulled out two iron collars and two keys on iron rings, threw them over the ship to Sulich, who caught them both.

"There is the collar and the key, Iva. You have both." He held her gaze a moment. "You are sure about this? Some find it hard to put the collar back on, even like this. It can stir … memories."

"It is fine," Iva said with a shrug, "I know in my heart I am free."

"Good," Glornir said.

"There is one other act of deception to be done before we reach Elvar and her war-host," Vol said, stroking the head of the serpent that was draped across her shoulders. She whispered her Seier-words to it and the serpent uncoiled and slithered down one of Vol's arms.

"H?ggormur vinur minn, skiptu um form, sofeu vie mj?emina, bítu tegar svipan er sprungin," Vol whispered, and the serpent slipped into her fist, coiled in circles, a thin thread of Seier leaking from Vol's hand and spiralling around the serpent like silver wire, wrapping tightly around its tail, looking like a handle. The outline of the snake shimmered and rippled, shifting, until to Varg's eyes the serpent came to resemble a whip.

"There, sleep now, my lovely," Vol said, and she wrapped a leather buckle around the serpent's body and buckled it to her belt, where it hung, appearing as a black, thick-coiled whip.

"Release the mooring ropes," Glornir called to Sulich. "To the oars," he bellowed at his crew, "and row hard, we need to catch Orlyg so that he does not arrive at this Wolfdales before us. We will never hear the last of his bluster if he beats the Bloodsworn there."

Varg stepped off the Sea-Wolf onto a stone pier. He stood with Svik and R?kia, waiting while all the Bloodsworn disembarked. He felt agitated, a tingling in his blood, and rolled his shoulders to adjust the weight of the shield across his back. The voice that he had heard in his dreams was echoing in his head while he was awake now. He looked at R?kia and knew that she heard it, too.

Hooves clattered as horses were led down a gangplank from Sulich's knarr , warriors clothed in their druzhina war gear, horse-hair helms, coats of lamellar plate, sabres, arrows, and recurved bows in scabbards at their weapons belts, spears in their fists. Sulich looked to Glornir, grinned and nodded, then pulled himself up into his saddle, all the warriors about him mounting up. Iva and Taras were last to leave the knarr , both wearing iron collars around their necks. They approached Glornir and Vol.

He nodded to them, then looked at his crew. All were gathered on the stone pier, wearing their war gear, black, blood-spattered shields slung across their backs. Edel stood with one hand on the head of her hound. Vesli perched on Breca's shoulder, and Grok and Kló were sitting upon the top-rail of the Sea-Wolf . They had made it clear that they wanted to accompany the Bloodsworn into the wolf's den, and they had drawn many an eye as the Sea-Wolf had sailed along the river searching for an empty space to moor at a pier.

The tramping of feet and Varg looked back along the west bank to see Jarl Orlyg approaching, his son one side of him, his Galdurman the other, his crew of fifty or sixty drengrs and Tainted warriors behind him.

Jarl Orlyg halted before the pier that Glornir and Sulich had moored at and gestured for them to take the lead.

"Bloodsworn, with me," Glornir said and strode along the pier, black shield across his back and long-axe in his fist like a staff, the Bloodsworn following him. Grok and Kló jumped from the Sea-Wolf onto the pier and hopped after them.

Glornir led them onto a wide path that shadowed the curve of the River Falinn, a steep-sided hill on Varg's right that rose out of the forest like the twisted spine of a giant's back. Varg glanced across the river to its east bank, where the Iron Wood reared tall and dense and ominous, shadows deep as night, although Varg saw that there were people on that side of the river working at clearing the foliage back from the riverbank, so that there was a widening strip between the river and the treeline.

But it was the west bank that he was walking upon that drew his eyes.

They walked past a series of piers, all of them full with moored drakkars and knarrs , people busy unloading their cargoes. Others were digging ditches and throwing up earth embankments, setting long wooden stakes into the ground, while at the bridge they built wooden gates, short towers and palisades. Many stopped to watch the Bloodsworn pass by, followed by Sulich and his mounted druzhina , the two giant ravens and finally Jarl Orlyg's crew.

And then Glornir was turning, walking away from the river upon a stone-paved road that carved between two rearing slopes, leading towards great stone-arched doors that stood open in the side of the hill. Varg had glimpsed it as they had sailed past, looking for a pier to moor at, and just the briefest sight had set Varg's blood thrumming.

Ulfrir is in there. A god is in there.

As they drew nearer Varg saw two huge, stone-carved statues of wolves standing at either side of the doors, each one half the size of the Sea-Wolf . Two guards stood to either side of the doors, men and women, all of them thick-muscled and hulking, dressed in fine mail, hair braided and oiled, axes in their fists, rings of silver on their arms. They all wore iron collars around their necks. At the sight of Glornir and the Bloodsworn one of them put a horn to their lips and blew, long and ringing.

" Berserkir ," R?kia said beside Varg.

They walked between the stone wolf-statues and Varg blinked, saw that the wind was sifting their fur. Then one of them turned its head with a grinding sound and looked at them, took a deep sniff and curled its lips, revealing huge stone fangs.

"Keep walking," one of the Berserkir guards said as Varg's hand went to his weapons belt. Glornir ignored the statues and walked through the open doors, leading the Bloodsworn into Ulfrir's wolf hall.

The room was vast, Varg looking up and feeling dizzy as stone-carved pillars reared up into shadow. Torches blazed in sconces upon those pillars, set around the edges of the chamber, hammered into stone. In the centre of the chamber was the trunk of a huge tree that rose up into the vaulted darkness. It glowed with faint light that emanated from dense clumps of fungus, as if some Seier-magic flowed within them, and carved into it, spiralling upward around the trunk, was a wide-stepped walkway. As Varg's eyes followed the tree upwards he saw the glimmer of fractured light speckling the rooftop, much like dappled sunlight filtering through a treetop canopy.

People were everywhere, part of the chamber filled with long tables and benches, fire pits blazing, carcasses of deer and mutton and boar turning on spits, huge cauldrons bubbling. Hammers rang and echoed, Varg seeing the white-hot fire-glow of forge-fires set back in alcoves around the chamber, black smoke belching. Elsewhere he saw warriors sparring, with spear and shield, sword and axe, but as they strode through the hall all that saw the Bloodsworn stopped what they were doing and started to follow them. Varg noticed their shields bore many different insignia.

They are mercenary bands, like us.

The crowds parted as the Bloodsworn strode through them, Varg hearing whispers and nods of respect as warriors saw the black, blood-spattered shields. He saw others scowling at Taras, though, and at Sulich and his riders.

Why? Because they are from Iskidan? Because their skin is a different colour from ours?

Varg scowled at that, felt the wolf in his blood growl and his hackles rise.

Glornir led them around the trunk of the tree and Varg saw a wide dais set at the far end of the hall.

A chair stood at the centre of the dais, a small figure seated upon it, others gathered around it. Further back, upon a stone pedestal, was a carved bust of a huge head.

Glornir led them on and, as they approached the dais, Varg saw that it was a full-grown woman sitting in the chair, and that the chair was oversized. She was a warrior, clothed in fine-gilded mail, a scabbarded sword across her lap, seax and slim axe at her belt, a black bearskin cloak around her shoulders, rings of gold upon her arms. A troll tusk hung on a leather cord about her neck. This must be Elvar of the Battle-Grim.

She stood as she saw Glornir and the Bloodsworn approaching. There were others upon the dais. Hulking mail-clad warriors at the woman's shoulder with iron collars around their necks, drengrs in mail and gilded helms, Seier-women with tattooed arms and jaws, and other figures standing further back, in shadow. Then in a burst of movement a woman was running past Elvar, jumping down from the dais. A fair-haired Seier-witch with dark tattoos on her arms and lower jaw, a cloak of raven-feathers about her.

Vol shouted and she was moving, too, the two women meeting and embracing, squeezing each other tight. Varg saw tears upon Vol's cheeks.

"Vol's sister," Svik said to him as Glornir led them closer.

Vol and her sister parted, both smiling, both weeping, holding each other by the shoulders.

"Uspa," Glornir said as he reached them.

"Ah, Glornir, Glornir," the Seier-witch named Uspa said, and wrapped her arms around him.

Varg looked beyond them to the dais, his eyes drawn to a shadowy form behind the chair, and a man stepped into the light. Tall, long dark hair streaked with grey, tied at the nape, a short, grey-streaked beard, and bright amber-flecked eyes.

I see you, wolf-child, I see you, my child , a voice said in Varg's head, and he blinked, grimaced. A grunt beside him and he saw R?kia shaking her head, scowling. He looked back to the man on the dais, saw that he was staring straight at him, a slight smile on his lips that revealed the tips of sharp-fanged teeth. There was another figure behind him and Varg saw it was a woman, red-haired, wearing a fine brynja , something hunched over each of her shoulders, some strange armour. She stepped to the tall man, touched his arm and he bent for her to whisper in his ear. She turned as she did so and Varg saw that it was not armour that rose above her shoulders, but that she had wings upon her back, rust-coloured as autumn leaves.

I have stepped out of Vigrie and into a saga , he thought.

Your secret is safe with me , the voice in his head spoke again. Come to me, when you can , and Varg looked up to see the tall man staring at him.

You are Ulfrir, the wolf-god! Varg thought.

I am your god , the voice said.

"Elvar Fire-Fist, I am Glornir Shieldbreaker, chief of the Bloodsworn, and I have come at your request," Glornir called out. "We will fight this dragon with you."

"Well met, Glornir Shieldbreaker," the woman who had been sitting in the chair said. "Your fair-fame, and that of your warband, is known to all in Vigrie and beyond. I am glad that my message reached you, and that you have accepted my offer. Is Orka with you?"