CHAPTER SIX VARG

CHAPTER SIX

VARG

V arg sat on a bench in the hall of Valdai, eating pork and onions, hard cheese and warm flatbread.

Most of the Bloodsworn were there, eating their evening meal, the carcass of a wild boar turning on a spit over a fire pit. Glornir sat with Vol and Edel, leaning close in deep conversation.

Svik sat down beside Varg with a wooden plate full of food in one hand and a cup of mead in the other.

"What do you think?" Varg asked him.

"About what?" Svik said, filling his mouth with cheese and thinly sliced onion.

"About the dragon. About what we are going to do!" Varg said, stunned that Svik had to ask. He had been able to think of little else since Vesli and the two giant ravens had arrived.

"Glornir's the chief, it's his decision to gnaw at," Svik shrugged. "Fight the dragon, fight someone else. Fighting is what we do, but it is Glornir who decides who we fight. Or what." He shrugged again.

R?kia joined them, pausing to examine the stitches in Varg's cheek. She brushed them gently with her fingertips and Varg felt his neck flush with heat.

Svik smirked.

"What?" R?kia said .

Svik just shook his head.

"What do you think, about the dragon?" Varg asked R?kia.

"It will be the fight to end all fights. Obviously we must be there," R?kia said with enthusiasm. "Imagine the songs that will be sung about us."

"Not much use if we're all too dead to hear them," Varg muttered. "This is the attitude I'm worried about."

R?kia rolled her eyes.

The hall doors opened and Sulich entered with a handful of his kin behind him. The sound of bones cracking and flesh tearing filtered in from the courtyard beyond. Varg pulled a face.

"How can those ravens still be eating," he asked.

"Look at it this way," Svik told him cheerfully, "the more they eat, the less there is to stink up the place when the bodies start rotting."

Once Vesli had delivered her message from Orka she had asked politely if she could rip the teeth from the gums of the dead that lay piled in the courtyard. Glornir had told her she could help herself to any part of Jaromir's druzhina that she wished to eat, at which point the ravens had started hopping from foot to foot and croaking about how hungry they were, having flown hundreds of leagues out of the kindness of their hearts, just as a favour to a friend. Glornir had told them they could feast on the dead, as long as they did not dig up the Bloodsworn who had been buried, and the ravens had wasted no time in getting started. Varg had left the courtyard soon after, the sound of their meal turning his stomach.

"Everyone has to eat," R?kia shrugged.

"I know, but …" Varg wished he could block his ears. Even with one of them missing he still managed to hear the sounds drifting in from the courtyard perfectly well. Too well.

Perhaps it is the wolf in my blood , he mused.

Sulich and his kin sat at the bench opposite Varg. Some were dark-skinned like Taras the Bull, others pale as R?kia, and others every hue in between. Some had shaven heads and braids, like Sulich, others were shaved to stubble, as Varg had been when he was a thrall. Many of them had a wariness about them, twitching at every sound or creak of the doors. Some had red weals around their necks where thrall-collars had rubbed them raw and Varg felt his own hand twitch, moving to the scars about his own neck.

"You are free now," he said without thinking.

"Aye, brother," Sulich said to him, "they are. They know it, up here." He put two fingers to his temple, "But some do not know it here, yet." The same hand moved to his heart.

"It takes time," Varg said, adjusting the neckline of his mail and tunic to show them his own scars.

A black-skinned woman nodded her thanks to him.

"Why were you locked in Jaromir's cellars?" Svik asked them.

"Jaromir and Rurik are planning a war," the black-skinned woman said. "We are Tainted," she gestured with her hand to the others around her. "They were going to use us, as weapons."

"Jaromir isn't planning anything now," Svik grinned.

"No," agreed Sulich. "He cannot hurt you now, Kesha."

"Jaromir cannot," Kesha agreed. "But Rurik can." She glanced at the doors. "We should leave."

"We will leave with the sun," Sulich said. "You are safe here tonight."

Kesha did not answer, but did not look as if she agreed.

"What war?" R?kia asked.

"To invade Vigrie," Kesha said. "To impress their father. Our father."

"Kirill, the Khagan of Iskidan?" Varg asked.

"Yes," Kesha nodded.

Svik whistled. "Those two had big stones, I'll give them that," Svik said.

There was a whirring of wings and Vesli the tennúr swept into the hall. She was labouring through the air, her wings working hard, and then Varg saw why and grimaced. The bag at her belt was huge, bulging, almost splitting.

She has filled it with the teeth of the dead druzhina .

Vesli alighted on the bench in front of Glornir and Vol.

Glornir nodded to her and stood, his bench scraping. "Bloodsworn," he said. "We have a decision to make." He looked around as a hush fell over the hall. "Orka Skullsplitter has sent us a message. We have been offered a job by Elvar of the Battle-Grim. Do you wish to fight this dragon?"

"It's your decision, chief," Svik called out. "We'll go where you point us."

"I know," Glornir said. "But it is no small thing, to make war against a god. I would know your hearts on this."

"We should fight her," Svik said. "From my understanding, the gold being offered will make us rich beyond our wildest dreams." Svik considered. "And I can dream a lot." The warriors around him laughed. "But we'll need to go and get Einar Half-Troll and ?sa first from that gods-cursed tongue-eaters' island."

Einar's cracked skull from the battle with the parasitic creature on the island off the coast of Iskidan had meant he'd been unable to travel and ?sa had volunteered to stay with him – and the children they had rescued – to heal him. Varg only hoped they were all still alive.

Glornir nodded. "Whatever we do, Einar and ?sa will be with us," Glornir said.

" Obviously ?sa will want to fight the dragon," Svik said to chuckles around the hall. "And Einar will most likely enjoy the challenge of fighting something bigger than himself for a change."

Others laughed and Glornir grunted. He looked around the hall, eyes settling on Edel.

"We should fight," she said, tugging on the ear of the hound sitting at her feet. "I do not think this is a problem that will go away. Best to end it now, before it grows. And I've seen these dragon-born." She pulled a sour face. "I did not like them much."

Glornir went around the room, asking each of them, leaving no one out. Eventually he reached Varg.

"Well, No-Sense?" Glornir asked him.

"I do not like the thought of fighting a dragon," Varg said.

"Only ?sa is mad enough to like that thought," Svik said, laughter rippling around the hall.

"But," Varg continued, "I think Edel is right. A dragon-god is not going to just go away, and if only half of the tales are true, having her loose in Vigrie is no good thing for anybody."

There were nods and heyas of agreement around the hall.

"Wise words from No-Sense," Svik said, feigning shock. "The world is indeed changing."

"And you, Glornir," Vol asked, "what do you think about going back to Vigrie to fight this dragon?"

"Her followers killed my brother," he growled. "And they have stolen my nephew. That is all I need to know."

Vesli hissed and Glornir looked at her. "Not just Breca stolen." Vesli told him. "In Vesli's hunger, she forgot part of mistress Orka's message." Her belly was swollen, and she picked a sliver of flesh from between her teeth, examined it and flicked it away. Belched.

"What did you forget?" Glornir prompted her.

Vesli concentrated. "Mistress Orka said to tell you that Uspa the Seier-witch is with Elvar and the Battle-Grim."

"Uspa is with them!" Vol said, rising from her chair.

"Who's Uspa?" Varg whispered.

"Vol's sister," R?kia answered.

"There's more," Vesli squeaked. "Mistress Orka said to tell you that the dragon-born have taken Uspa's son, Bjarn."

"Taken Bjarn!" Vol snarled. A dark fire kindled in her eyes.

Glornir reached out and wrapped a big hand around hers. He looked around the hall.

"It is decided, then. The Bloodsworn will fight this dragon. We leave at dawn for the Sea-Wolf ."

Varg sat on his bed roll, leaning against the wall of the hall. The fire pit had burned down to embers, casting the hall in red-gilded shadow. Svik snored one side of him, and R?kia lay with her back to him on the other. She was twitching, her lips moving, muttering incoherent words.

Dreaming.

Varg had been having strange dreams of late, too. Of a black wolf calling to him. Of a green-eyed man staring at him from the shadows. But that was not the reason he had not lain down to sleep.

Soft footfalls and Vol stood over him.

"Are you ready?" she asked him.

Varg sucked in a breath. "Aye," he breathed.

"Follow," Vol said, turned and walked away.

Varg rose quietly and stepped over R?kia's sleeping form. Her hand reached out and touched his leg.

"I will come with you, if you wish," she said, looking up at him.

He paused a moment, then nodded. She rose soundlessly and together they passed through the hall, following Vol as she climbed onto the dais and walked through the shattered door at the back of the hall. Varg and R?kia hurried after her, seeing her disappear down a stairwell. The fire glow from the hall lit the first few steps but they were in darkness by the time they reached the corridor at the stairwell's end.

Varg whispered to the wolf in his blood and his vision grew sharper, Vol separating from the shadows ahead of him, striding down the corridor.

" Logi ," Vol growled and iron sconces on the walls crackled into flame as she passed them. She took a torch from the wall and turned into a room, Varg and R?kia following close behind.

Jaromir's corpse still lay slumped against the bars of the hidden room, his body pierced by a thousand splinters of wood. Vol ignored him, walked to the desk in the middle of the room and rested the torch upon it. She drew a small seax from her belt and sliced a red line across her palm, clenched her fist until blood welled at her fingertips, then traced sharp lines with her blood across the desk. Sixteen lines radiating out from the torch, joined like a spiderweb. She inscribed runes at the end of each line.

"Give me your sister's lock of hair," Vol said, opening her bloodied palm.

Varg fumbled with the pouch at his belt, his heart abruptly hammering in his chest. Pulled out the lock of hair and put it in Vol's open hand.

"Your sister's name?" Vol asked.

"Fr?ya," Varg said.

Vol closed her eyes and clenched her fist around the hair.

" Andi Fr?ya, ég kalla tig. Síe asta syn Fr?ya, ég kalla tig, síeasti andardráttur Freyja, ég kalla tig, kallaeur af blóei, af holdi, af hári, af beinum, kallaeur af krafti Snaka ," Vol intoned, then opened her palm and dropped the bloodied hair into the torch's flames.

Varg gasped and involuntarily snatched at the hair, and R?kia gripped his wrist. It was all that he had left of his sister.

The flames hissed and crackled, climbing higher, spreading within the boundaries of Vol's blood-stave.

The air grew colder, the room darker, only the flames visible. Varg shivered, blew out misted breath. The flames grew higher, and an image appeared within them. Seeing through someone else's eyes. They were running through woodland, trees rearing, boughs heavy with snow. The sound of laboured breathing, the crunch of footfalls through snow, running, stumbling. Varg felt an overwhelming weight of exhaustion fill him, his limbs heavy, his lungs burning.

"What is happening?" Varg hissed.

"You are seeing through Fr?ya's eyes," Vol said gently. "Seeing what she saw, hearing what she heard, feeling what she felt."

Voices shouting, a spike of fear in Fr?ya that echoed through Varg and she increased her pace, tripped over a branch hidden by snow, stumbled, righted herself, ran on. An impact that Varg felt on his back and Fr?ya cried out, fell to the ground, snow in her face, pain lancing through her shoulder blades. Varg felt it all, the pain, the cold, the fear.

Fr?ya tried to rise, got to her hands and knees, voices loud behind her, another crack to her back and she collapsed, a weight pinning her to the ground.

"Didn't think you could escape me, did you, you nieing little bitch?" a voice in her ear. A hand on the back of her head, grinding her face into the snow. In her eyes, her mouth, filling her nostrils, tasted pine needles and damp earth. She tried to breathe, panicking, thrashed in her captor's grip.

"Get her up," a deep voice called out, dull and muted by the snow, and she was heaved from the ground, coughing snow, pine needles, dirt and sucking in deep breaths. Spun around and slammed into a tree, her breath crushed from her body. A man's smiling face filled the flames, weathered and lined like the bark of an old tree, a raven's feather bound in his hair, a necklace of teeth or tusks hanging around his neck. Behind him other figures approaching, one taller and broader than the rest, long black hair tied at the nape and a braided black beard. He wore two seaxes in fine-wrought scabbards at his belt. Varg memorised the faces, burned them into his thought-cage.

"Three times," the black beard growled as he reached her. "Three times you've led my crew a dance. I told you no more. I've offered you wealth, a new life. Freedom."

"What you've offered is not freedom," Fr?ya snarled at him, thrashing and kicking at her captor, trying to bite him, her teeth clacking. A knee in her belly, driving the breath from her and she slumped, her head drooping. "I just want to go back to my brother ," she wheezed.

Varg's heart stuttered.

The dark-haired man leaned down to stare in Fr?ya's eyes, and Varg saw the sparking of red flames in his pupils.

"Ungrateful, stupid," he said.

"Murderer," Fr?ya spat back at him.

"What shall I do with her, chief?" the weathered face said. "Reckon she should be made an example of. I can do that."

A silence, dark hair staring at Fr?ya.

"Do it, Brák," he said, turning his back and walking away.

A name. Varg thought. A face I will never forget, and a name . Other figures followed him, and Brák smiled. He struck Fr?ya across the mouth, Varg tasting blood, and Fr?ya dropped to her knees, looked up to see him opening a pouch at his belt, pulling out a long nail.

A rush of fear, and anger, new strength stirring in her blood and Varg recognised the touch of the wolf. She launched herself from the ground at the man, biting and clawing, and he cried out, fell stumbling back.

Unseen hands grabbed her arms, dragged her off Brák and he punched her in the gut, struck her on the side of the head with the butt end of the nail. All the strength emptied from her, her knees weak and she slumped in the grip of her captors.

"Hold her," Brák snarled as he cuffed blood from scratches across his cheek and she was dragged back to a tree. He grabbed her wrists and wrenched them up high, slammed the nail through her palms and into the trunk.

Varg felt himself sobbing and didn't know if it was from her shared terror or the horror he felt at her suffering. R?kia squeezed his hand.

Fr?ya's screams filled the room, the flames writhing and twisting.

Brák pulled a seax from his belt and hammered the nail into the tree trunk with the seax's butt end, each blow sending pain pulsing through Varg. When Brák was finished he stepped back and smiled up at her.

"Your pointless life will have a meaning now," he said. "A lesson to others, to behave."

"I pity you," she snarled at him.

He stepped closer, pulled his arm back and stabbed his seax into her belly. It felt like a punch, numb at first. Then he began to drag the blade across her stomach, slicing her open. Pain like Varg had never felt before. He staggered, R?kia reaching out and steadying him. He felt Fr?ya's strength leaving, her life emptying from her like a pierced sack of wine.

She sucked in one last breath.

"Varg," she whispered as her head slumped and the image in the flames faded and disappeared.

Varg fell to his knees and howled.