CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO ORKA

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

ORKA

O rka sat on a stool with Breca in a shadowed alcove of Ulfrir's hall, dipping a chunk of hard bread into a beef and turnip stew as her eyes skimmed across all who sat in the eating hall before Elvar upon her dais.

The scrape of feet and Orka saw a man walking towards them: Dagrun, Orlyg's son.

"Ahh," Orka murmured.

I wondered when he would seek me out.

"Farmer," Dagrun said as he reached them. He pulled a bench closer and sat on it.

"What do you want?" Orka said to him.

"Just to talk," Dagrun said. He looked from Orka to Breca. "No need to be so hostile. I told you, your secret is safe with me."

"What is your price?" Orka said.

"Price? None, really. You saved my life, remember."

"Aye, and you paid me blood-price for that with this brynja ."

"My life is worth more than a brynja , no matter how fine it is," Dagrun said. "At least, to me it is. I saw the beast in you when you fought Myrk." He smiled and nodded approvingly. "You fought well, just that holmganga alone should be a skáld-song."

"What is your price?" Orka asked him again.

"Keep asking me that and you may well offend me," Dagrun said, his smile fading. "All I ask—"

"Ah, now we have the meat of it."

"All I ask is that you be a friend to me. As those ravens say, we all need friends. One day I may need your help, may ask you for a favour." He shrugged. "That is all. And it will work the other way. If you ever need help, only ask and I will do what I can."

"I am Tainted," Orka said carefully. "You could have me thralled. I would become your enemy then, and one day I would kill you for it, but you could still expose me. Use me."

"I judge people by their deeds, not what or whose blood flows in their veins." He stood up, looked at Breca. "She has fought her way through a war-host to get you back."

"I know," Breca said.

"Never forget it," Dagrun said as he turned and walked away.

"I will not," Breca whispered.

Orka watched Dagrun and saw another figure separate from the crowds and approach them, Glornir, broad and hulking.

"Why are we hiding in the shadows?" he asked them as he pulled up a stool, the wood creaking with his weight, a horn of mead in his fist.

Orka slurped stew from her bread.

"Because there is a man out there who knows that I am Tainted, and if he saw me it would go badly for Breca and me," she said.

"Skalk," Glornir growled.

"Aye, Skalk, the Galdurman with Estrid," Orka said to Breca's questioning look. "I crossed paths with him at the Grimholt, when I was looking for you. I thought you were a captive in their outbuildings and …"

"And what?" Breca asked her.

A twist of her lips, a shrug.

"I loosed the wolf in my blood."

"Ah," Breca murmured, thinking it over. "We could kill him," he said.

"Yes," Glornir growled, patting Breca's shoulder. "I should have killed him when I saw him, but he will die, and soon."

"We could kill him now. Vigrie would be a better place without him," Orka said. "But I have been watching him and he is never alone, always with his drengr and Galdurwoman. I could kill them, too, but without being seen. That is not so easy."

"You could put on one of uncle Glornir's collars," Breca said. "Like the ones he gave to Iva and Taras, pretend that you are thralled. Then you can use your blood-gift without fear."

Glornir grunted approvingly.

Orka looked down at Breca. "That is some deep-cunning thinking," she said.

"I have been thinking a lot," Breca said.

"About what?" Orka asked him.

"Many things. About our home at Fellur, about Spert. About Papa," he said, and tears welled in his eyes.

"You remind me of him," Glornir said.

Breca gave him a half-smile, a tear spilling down one cheek.

"Not just the look of you, Thorkel is in the way you speak, the way you walk," Glornir said. He leaned closer. "When you feel anger, do you hear the growl of the bear, or the howl of the wolf?"

"Both," Breca said.

Orka blinked at that, and shared a look with Glornir, who nodded, tugging at his beard.

"The wolf and the bear," he murmured. "Well, that is a rare thing." A smile split his beard. "I would not want to stand in the shield wall against you when you are grown. There were few who could stand against Orka and Thorkel together." He was silent a moment, eyes distant with memory. "None, actually, that I remember." He looked down at Breca. "Ah, lad, but you should have seen them. My brother and sister were a rare sight."

"Sister?" Breca said.

"We are Bloodsworn. Thorkel was my brother by blood, but Orka was my sister through our oaths. Oaths bind us."

"But I walked away, turned my back on my oath," Orka whispered.

"Ach, no more of that," Glornir said. "You had your reasons, but you never stopped being my Bloodsworn sister. And I do not believe you ever stopped thinking of us as your kin." He looked into Orka's eyes, held her gaze.

"No, I did not," she said. "My brother."

Glornir reached out and patted her hand.

"I wish my father were still here," Breca said.

"So do I, lad, so do I," Glornir murmured.

Breca looked up at Orka. "Do you think about him, Mama?"

Orka closed her eyes, could see Thorkel in her head, his eyes that always seemed to look into the heart of her.

"Every moment of every day," she breathed. Blew out a long sigh. "Glornir is right, your father would be proud of you, his fierce, deep-cunning son. You have a temper, though, and that can get you into trouble."

"Ha, you are a fine one to talk. I think perhaps I got that temper from you," Breca smiled.

"Ha," Glornir grunted a laugh.

A smile twisted at Orka's lips, and she ruffled Breca's hair. "Heya," she acknowledged.

"And what else have you been thinking on, in this thought-cage of yours," she asked Breca, tapping his head with a finger.

"About this war," he said. "I have heard people say that we are fighting for a slaver, that Lik-Rifa would set the Tainted free. That we could be free."

"Heard who?" Orka said, frowning down at Breca.

"ákveein," Breca said. "She is a Hundur -blood, thralled to Runa Red-Axe. But not just her."

"Huh," Orka grunted. "Well, it is not as simple as that. You will hear one person saying they fight for this freedom, another that they fight to right a terrible wrong. It is all talk. People fight for themselves. Lik-Rifa fights her brother because of grudges centuries old. Ulfrir would fight Lik-Rifa because of the slaying of his daughter." She rolled her shoulders. "That I understand. That is the truth. People fight to survive, or fight for blood feud, or fight for power. There is nothing else, no matter what pretty words come out of their mouths."

"Heya," Glornir agreed.

Orka woke with a growl, a rumbling echoing all about her, clouds of dust shaken from the walls. It felt like the world was breaking apart.

"SHE IS HERE," Ulfrir's voice howled in her head and Orka was on her feet, Breca blinking and pushing himself up.

They slept in a chamber with all of the Bloodsworn, and all around Orka warriors were jumping to their feet, buckling on belts and helms, grabbing spears and shields. Varg and R?kia were already standing, but all in the room were close behind them.

The chamber echoed with the sounds of destruction. A roaring that filled the world, the sound of timber splintering, smashing.

"What?" Einar said with a thunder-cloud frown.

"Lik-Rifa," Glornir growled. "Weapons," he said as he buckled up his weapons belt and shrugged his shield over his back, and then he was moving, leading them out from the chamber.

"Stay close," Orka said to Breca as she swept up her long-axe and followed after Glornir, who led them through high-vaulted corridors until they were bursting into the great hall.

All was movement, warriors pouring into the chamber from corridors that fed into the hall, and Orka saw Ulfrir with Elvar, her Berserkirs , drengrs and Battle-Grim about her, all of them striding to the great stone doors. Glornir led them after her, the Bloodsworn shouldering through the gathering crowd. Ulfrir glanced at Orka.

She is here , the wolf-god said inside Orka's head.

Beyond the doors it sounded like the world was ending, a great beast roaring louder than the mightiest of storms, the sound of timber splitting, torn, smashed.

Elvar walked to the doors, shouted a word of command and with a grating creak they began to open, dawn's milk-pewter light seeping in. There was an eruption of blue-tinged light that seared itself across Orka's eyes, an earth-shattering roar edged with pain and a turbulence of air surging through the opening doors, rocking people back on their feet, and then the sounds of destruction were fading.

Elvar strode out into the dawn, Ulfrir and all following her. Orka heard bellowed commands, some troops drawing up into shield walls, but Glornir just led the Bloodsworn in a loose formation. Orka looked, checked where Breca was and was pleased to see him close to her, clutching his shield and spear, eyes wide.

The two stone wolves were crouched and snarling, glaring up at the pale sky beyond the river and Orka saw the black stain of dragon-wings over the forest, beating slowly, heard the distant heartbeat like a pulse, Lik-Rifa fading into the distance.

Elvar led them on, through the vale flanked by steep slopes and onto the road that led to the bridge, warriors spreading wide as they passed beyond the reach of the two hillside promontories, moving along both strands of the riverbank as Elvar approached the gates built across the bridge.

The gate and towers were intact, fractured ripples of blue light flickering through them. Elvar reached them and strode up a stairwell beside one of the gate towers. Orka saw others heading for the other stairwell, Elvar's brother, Broeir, with one of Elvar's jarls, Runa Red-Axe and a handful of her drengrs. Glornir led the Bloodsworn behind them and climbed the stairwell, Vol beside him, Orka following close. She heard gasps as she stepped out onto the walkway and palisade, felt her heart lurch in her chest.

The fleet of longships and knarr was gone, the river choked with shattered strakes and timber, with masts and oars and broken prow-beasts. Half-submerged sails floated by, the current slowly carrying smashed hulls and splintered bows away. Half a longship had wedged against the riverbank close to the bridge, snaring more ruined timber, the water frothing white as the current swirled around it.

All along the riverbank Orka heard warriors crying out as they climbed up onto the palisade built upon the new embankments. Some warriors scrambled over the palisade and slid down into the ditch, clambering back up the other side in a vain attempt to salvage something from the wreckage.

"Why has she done this?" Orka heard Elvar say.

"So that we cannot flee," Silrie said, who stood close to her.

"She is a child having a tantrum," Ulfrir snarled. "She came to destroy the gate, and, when unable to, she lashed out in rage at the closest thing."

All along the walkway above the gates people just stood and stared in shock, frozen at the sight of such destruction. Never had Orka seen so vast a fleet, and in moments it had been reduced to a river of splintered matchwood. People were weeping.

"Mama," Breca whispered, tugging at the mail sleeve of Orka's brynja .

"What?" Orka said, still gazing in horror at the wreckage in the river.

"Something's … wrong," Breca said, and Orka tore her eyes from the carnage to look at him.

"There," Breca said, pointing, and Orka saw someone walking along behind all those gathered above the gates, making their way to Elvar. Broeir, her brother. It looked strange, out of place, because all else were fixated upon the ruined fleet. As Broeir drew near to Elvar, Orka saw his hand reach inside his cloak, saw the glint of steel.

"ELVAR, WARE," Orka cried out as she reached for the hand-axe at her belt. Elvar was turning, eyes flaring wide as she saw Broeir, his seax stabbing at her. Gytha lunged at Broeir, and a body slammed into her, Runa Red-Axe, a sword in her fist. Gytha grabbed Runa's wrist and the two of them stumbled against the palisade wall and toppled over.

Elvar twisted and Broeir's seax stabbed at her, the blade grating along the waist of her brynja , Broeir snarling, punching Elvar with his other fist, sending her reeling back, Broeir's wrist coming back for another strike with his seax.

A handful of Runa's drengrs were there, had filtered among Elvar's drengrs, and now were stabbing and chopping, stopping her guards from coming to her aid. A Berserkir growled, Thorguna Storm-Cloud, drawing the twin axes at her belt and with a wet slap she buried one axe in the skull of a drengr , severed a wrist with her other axe.

Ulfrir roared, his body rippling and people ran or leaped from the walkway.

" Kraftur ?skunnar, kraftur gueanna, brenndu hana, svíeu hold af beinum, " a voice cried out and red runes crackled to life at the tip of Silrie's staff, the Galdurwoman pointing it at Elvar and Broeir.

" Snákur svipar, vakandi og bítur djúpt, " another voice called out, Vol reaching down to the black whip at her waist, grasping the handle, the serpent-end rearing up, hissing, fangs bared. With a crack she snapped the whip out and Silrie screamed, reeling away with the serpent-headed fangs of the whip embedded in her cheek. Vol ripped her arm back and the serpent came free, a chunk of Silrie's cheek still in its mouth. The Galdurwoman screamed, stumbling away.

Orka ran along the walkway, long-axe in one fist, hand-axe in the other.

Broeir had pushed Elvar back against the wall, was trying to bring his seax up to her throat, but she had his wrist in her grip. Orka drew her arm back and threw, her hand-axe spinning through the air. It slammed into Broeir's back, sliced through his mail shirt and deep into his back and shoulder. He reared back, screaming, grasping at the axe, and Elvar head-butted him in the face.

Silrie reeled into Broeir, grabbed a fistful of his tunic, and she leaped over the wall, dragging Broeir with her.

Orka ran to the wall, Elvar leaning over it, Ulfrir leaping as he transformed into his wolf-form. The ground and gates shook as he landed, Silrie clambering to her feet, one side of her face blood-drenched, dragging Broeir across the bridge. Ulfrir padded after them, lips drawn back in a snarl. Broeir saw him and screamed, high and terrified, and he turned and leaped from the bridge into the river, Silrie stumbling after him. With a splash they were both gone, disappearing amidst the ruin of longships that were being swept by the current.

People ran to Elvar, who snarled and spat curses, one hand going to her waist where Broeir had struck her. Runa's drengrs had all been slain on the walkway, but Gytha stood on the bridge with one foot on Runa's wrist, her sword tip touching Runa's throat.

"Alive, I want her alive ," Elvar shouted down to Gytha.

Orka leaned on the wall, staring at where Broeir had flung himself into the river. Svik came to stand beside her.

"What's wrong?" Svik asked her, looking at the scowl on her face.

"He's got my axe," she snarled.