Icefall (17 page)

Asa backs away.

“Hake!” Harald shouts, but I cover his mouth.

At the sound of his name, the berserker roars at us. But Gunnlaug’s two remaining men charge him, and Hake turns his rage on them. The first one goes down almost instantly with a single swing of Hake’s war hammer. The second warrior is stronger and quicker. He dodges Hake’s strike and leaps away. The two circle each other for a moment before Hake attacks.

“Solveig!” Alric emerges from the trees behind me. “Harald, Asa, come! Hurry!”

He grabs me with one arm and Harald with the other, pulls us into the trees, and Asa rushes after us.

The branches whip my face and the snow slows my feet as we make our way through the woods. Then we burst from the
copse into the field and run a distance out into the open before pausing. Alric pants and looks around, first up the ravine, and then toward the hall, where I see a host of men bearing down on us. Gunnlaug’s men.

“Can we make it to the cave?” I ask.

I hear another roar, and then Hake explodes from the trees. His wild gaze sweeps the field, and he sees us.

“This way,” Alric says, and leads us straight toward Gunnlaug’s men.

“They’ll catch us!” Asa shouts.

“But they won’t kill you!” Alric says.

I look over my shoulder and see the berserker tearing across the field in our direction. He covers the distance with astonishing speed, and for a moment I am certain he will reach us. But then one of Gunnlaug’s men flies by me, knocking me aside. Alric helps me up as a dozen or more men charge past us. In the confusion, I am grabbed from behind, as are Asa and Harald. Two men point their spears at Alric, and he holds up his empty hands in submission. We are captured.

Before us, Hake skids to a halt and braces himself. He snarls, bites his own shield, and swings his war hammer as Gunnlaug’s men swarm him. They all clash with him at once, a terrible sound I feel in my stomach. Barely a moment later, four, then five of Gunnlaug’s men lie sprawled and bloody on the ground. A few still move.

Hake stomps and smashes through those that remain like a
frost giant, and the sight fills me with awe and terror. Shields split, swords break, and spears shatter. The bodies pile up around him. But before the berserker has laid out the last of them, a new wave of warriors assaults him. Our guards pull us back, away from the battle. I feel the fear in the warrior holding me, and strain against his grip.

A bowstring twangs behind me, and I look up as an arrow flies over us. It thuds in the ground near Hake just as he leaps aside. And then I hear three more twangs. Three more arrows. One of them strikes Hake in the shoulder and throws him back. He bellows in rage.

The archers reach us and pause, grim and determined. They fire another volley and continue past us in their advance on the berserker.

Then I see Gunnlaug coming toward us from the hall. He strides across the field surrounded by his honor guard.

“Take him down!” the chieftain shouts.

Another volley, and an arrow strikes Hake in the thigh. He grabs it and wrenches it free with a spray of blood, just as another arrow pierces his arm. Hake snarls and tries to charge at the archers, but a wall of shields pushes him back. Gunnlaug’s men have hedged him in, and he is getting weaker. The archers notch their next arrows.

I turn to Alric. “They’re going to kill him!”

Alric shakes his head, mouth open, helpless. And then Gunnlaug is there behind me, his honor guard surrounding us.

“If you know of another way to stop a berserker,” the chieftain says, “then speak it.” He stands with his hands on his hips, and wears fox furs over his armor. Beneath his helmet, his eyes in their own way are as empty as Hake’s.

“I can stop him,” I say, though in that moment I don’t know how. “Please don’t kill him.”

Gunnlaug tilts his head. “Hold your fire!” He points at Hake. “A girl like you stop a berserker? This, I have to see.”

“Just let me try.”

He strokes the pommel of his sword, which is still in its scabbard at his side. “All right. Though I think we’re all about to see you die.”

I swallow, and the warrior releases me. Gunnlaug’s honor guard parts to let me pass.

“What are you doing?” Alric whispers.

I ignore him and march to the ring of shields encircling Hake, and push my way through them. The shields close behind me, trapping me in with the berserker. Arrows jut from his shoulder and arm. He bleeds from his wounds, trembles, and his eyes are frantic with pain and rage. He crouches as if preparing to attack me. I try to hold still, feeling small and powerless.

“Hake?” I say. “Hake, you know me. You took my Hilda, and then you gave me a raven in a cage.”

He growls. I see his teeth.

“I named him Muninn. You gave me memory.” My throat constricts. “Hake?”

His eyebrows crease. He stops growling.

“I saw you praying in the cold.” I take a step toward him. “I heard you ask the Allfather for strength to keep the rage away. To destroy you if it took you again. So you wouldn’t hurt anyone. But I don’t want you to be destroyed. Can you hear me, Hake?”

His trembling eases and he frowns.

“Come back, Hake. Listen to my voice. You know my voice. I told your men of Eir.” I take another step toward him. “Do you remember?”

His wild eyes blink.

I draw nearer. “Eir came down from the Hill of Healing among your fallen ones. When they lay sick and dying, her story brought them comfort.” I think he is beginning to see me. I take the last step right up to him, lift my fingers, and kiss the tips. I touch them to his bloody lips.

“Hake,” I say.

At the contact, he sighs and squints. I think perhaps he recognizes me. And then he drops to one knee.

“Can it be?” Gunnlaug’s booming voice causes me to wince. “The mighty Hake taken alive? Hah!”

The wall of shields presses in on us, now studded with spears. Hake looks up and pulls me close, holding up his hands as if to shield me from the blades. But then he slides down to his other knee. He lets me go, his eyes close, and he collapses to the ground.

“Hake!” I reach for him, but I am yanked away as four men surround Hake’s body. The shield-ring disbands, and I am hauled back to stand before Gunnlaug as they drag the berserker from the field toward the hall. “Hake!” I shout again.

“Calm down, girl,” the chieftain says. He removes his helmet, exposing his pink, bald head. “You saved him, for now. You with the silver tongue. Though I don’t think his honor will thank you for it.” He looks around, and his gaze stops on my sister, sliding over her. “Hello, Asa. It is my plea sure to see you again.”

Asa looks away.

Gunnlaug laughs. “The steading is ours. Bring them to the hall.”

A
lric, my siblings, and I are prodded across the field at spearpoint. We march along, surrounded by enemies, and all I can think about is how the snow crunches beneath my boots. Nothing else seems real.

“That was very foolish what you did,” Alric whispers to me. He sounds angry.

“I know,” I say.

“And Gunnlaug is right. Hake would rather have died than be taken alive.”

I look away. I don’t care what Alric says, I am glad I did what I did.

But as we draw near the hall, and I see the bodies massed around the steading gate, I want to weep. I think the last three
of Hake’s men must be among the dead, still weakened as they were by the poison. But they knew that when they chose to stay with Hake and fight.

I wonder what will happen to us. Gunnlaug will likely ask ransom for Harald. It would be foolish to kill my brother, for then my father would reap a bloody revenge on Gunnlaug and burn every field in his kingdom. Asa, I fear, will be forced to marry. But what of me? I have no worth for ransom or as a bride.

I realize I haven’t yet seen Per, nor Bera and Raudi. And where is Ole?

I turn back to Alric and whisper, “What about the others?”

“I don’t know,” Alric says out of the side of his mouth. “I realized you weren’t with us halfway up the ravine, and I came back down looking for you. Bera and Raudi continued on.”

“But Per and Ole?”

His jaw tightens. “For good or for ill, I think we shall find out about them soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head to quiet me.

Our captors herd us through the hall doors and force us to the ground near the hearth, where a fire has been rekindled. I look around and nothing about this building feels familiar anymore. Except for the benches, all our possessions are gone,
stowed in the ship that still waits for us, and the hall is crowded with strange, dirty men. Even the rafters overhead cast sinister shadows against the roof.

Seeing those wooden beams reminds me of Muninn. I hope that he is safe out in the woods.

Gunnlaug enters, flanked by two of his honor guard. “Clear out, all of you,” he orders, and except for the two at his side, his men vacate the hall and shut the doors behind them. Gunnlaug removes his gloves on his way toward us, and stands next to the hearth with his palms toward the fire. He looks us over for several long moments, shaking his head.

“I am sad it had to come to this,” he says. “The bride-price I offered was more than fair. Your father dishonored me in refusing it. I had no choice.”

“How fortunate,” Alric says, “that your honor demanded that you take something you wanted.” His smile is back, that strange, implacable smile, and I am so comforted by the sight of it that tears form in my eyes. “Honor is seldom so convenient.”

Gunnlaug scowls. “I remember you. You’re the skald.”

“I am.”

“And the others,” Gunnlaug says. “You are Harald, are you not?”

My brother sticks his chin up in the air.

“I can see why your father is proud of you,” Gunnlaug says. “Your bravery is plain.”

The hall doors open and Ole walks in, unaccompanied. He strolls down the hall looking grim, and I stare at him, trying to make sense of what he is doing. Gunnlaug glances up at Ole and nods, and I realize that they know each other. Ole knows Gunnlaug.

“Asa, I remember well,” the chieftain continues. “And you are more beautiful now than when I first sought you for my wife.”

Asa’s head droops against her chest. Gunnlaug extends his hand and tries to lift Asa’s chin with two of his fingers. She resists him, and Gunnlaug’s eyes narrow. For a moment, his smile takes on a wicked air. But the moment passes, and then Ole is there, standing beside him. Ole, our traitor all along.

The chieftain looks at me. “And you? You must be the second daughter.”

“No,” Ole says.

I look up at him. This thrall who has served us for so many years, this villain in our midst who made me a doll from scraps of rope.

“No?” Gunnlaug asks.

“She is the skald’s apprentice,” Ole says.

I remember then what Ole told me to remember, and I realize that this is what he meant. He knew this moment would come, and he prepared me for it even as he plotted our downfall. I know I should be angry. I should want to kill him, as
Hake would. But I don’t. There is only an immense sadness in my chest that makes it difficult to breathe.

Alric blinks at Ole, and his smile just barely slips.

Gunnlaug pauses. “I took no notice of the second daughter — what was her name?”

“Solveig,” Ole says.

“Yes, Solveig. I paid her little mind when I visited her father’s hall.” He stares at me.

Alric leans toward us. “Siv here has more inborn talent than any of my previous apprentices.”

I see the confusion in Asa and Harald, and I worry that they will give us away, but neither of them say anything, and I don’t think Gunnlaug notices.

“Siv,” the chieftain says. “Then where is the second daughter?”

“Her father chose not to send her,” Ole says. “She has little value in his eyes.”

His words hurt, and give strength to the part of me that has always believed them to be true.

Gunnlaug looks back and forth between Alric and me, Ole and Alric. I think he suspects something, and I struggle to keep my face calm, my breathing even. “Very well,” the chieftain says. “And where are the others of the household?”

“Your men are bringing the cook and her son down from the ravine right now. I do not know where Per is.”

So Per is alive. And still free.

“We’ll find him,” Gunnlaug says. “For now, bring Hake inside and make sure he lives through the night. What of our wounded?”

“No wounded,” Ole says. “Only the dead.”

“Lay them in the cowshed.”

“Yes, sir.” Ole begins to walk away.

“You’re a traitor!” Harald shouts at Ole’s back. The old man turns, and I reach for my brother to silence him, but catch myself partway. A skald’s apprentice would never do so familiar a thing with a prince. But Gunnlaug has seen it and raises an eyebrow at me.

“It is true that I am a traitor to your father,” Ole says. “But never to
my
king. I served Gunnlaug’s father before I was captured, and I serve his son now.” Then he looks at me. “You can never trust anyone once you’ve had to trap them in a cage.” He turns again and leaves.

Moments later, several warriors enter bearing Hake. They lay him on a table and begin removing or cutting away clothing. They rinse and wipe away the blood encrusting his wounds, after which they set about pulling the arrows from his body. The berserker appears barely conscious, trembling and muttering incoherently, and I am frightened by the amount of blood still flowing out of him. Gunnlaug watches from a distance, his hands behind his back.

Before long, another group of men drag Bera and Raudi into the hall. Bera claws and kicks, but she gasps at the sight
of Hake and pulls free of her guards. “Get away from him!” she shouts and hurries to the berserker’s side. She heaves Gunnlaug’s men away. “Take your filthy hands off, and let me tend him.”

Gunnlaug regards her and then motions for his men to move. “Let her work.”

Bera throws off her cloak and inspects Hake’s wounds, then gestures to me and Raudi. She tears away some strips from her apron and has us apply them with pressure to the wounds. I feel the warm blood beneath my hands, seeping between my fingers. Bera asks the room for a sword and holds out her hand, waiting. Gunnlaug nods again, and one of his warriors hands Bera his weapon. She sets the tip of the blade in the center of the fire and leaves it there before returning to Raudi and me.

As we’re leaning in together, I whisper as quietly and as clearly as I can. “Gunnlaug doesn’t know who I am. He thinks I am Siv, Alric’s apprentice.”

They exchange looks, but nod that they understand.

Gunnlaug comes closer. “Will he live?”

“Where are your medicines?” Bera asks, making it sound like an accusation.

Another of the chieftain’s men hands her a satchel, which she rummages through, sniffing the pouches and setting a few of them aside. She blends the contents of these together in the palm of her hand, sprinkling the mixture with water to
make a paste, glancing now and again at the sword she left in the fire.

“This wound is too deep,” she says, packing the poultice into the hole in Hake’s shoulder. “It needs to stay open and weep.”

I’m holding my weight on Hake’s leg, the fabric in my hand soaked with his blood. I find it hard to control my panic and keep my mind present. I don’t know how Bera does it. She takes another rag and uses it to pull the sword from the hearth, the tip of the blade a deep and angry red.

“Step back, all of you.” She swings the weapon closer. “Come away now, S — Siv.”

I step clear, and as soon as I do, the bleeding goes from a leak to a stream. Bera lays the flat of the sword tip right in the wound and presses down. The skin sizzles and smokes, and I gag on the smell of cooking meat. Bera holds the blade there for a moment longer and then pulls it away. The torn edges of skin are charred, but the bleeding has nearly stopped. She packs some more of the poultice in the wound and then wraps the leg. After this, dressing the arm seems a small thing and goes quickly.

“He might live,” Bera says to Gunnlaug, wiping the blood from her hands. “The night will bear it out.”

Gunnlaug nods. Then he holds out his hand. “I believe that’s the larder key hanging from your brooch.”

Bera’s glare would cause me to fear sharing a bedcloset with
her, but Gunnlaug doesn’t flinch. She takes the key from its chain and slaps it in his hand.

“Thank you,” he says. “And now, my men are hungry.”

“Then I hope you brought some food with you, and someone to cook it.”

“We brought food, and you will prepare it.”

Bera frowns hard enough to turn her lips white.

“And I will have someone watching you,” Gunnlaug says. “We wouldn’t want any poison to slip in now, would we?”

For a moment, confusion replaces some of the fierceness in Bera’s face. But then it seems she comes to the same realization I do. Gunnlaug knew about the poisoning, and very likely ordered it done.

“My men are bringing up provisions as we speak,” Gunnlaug says.

Bera looks down and turns away.

“You, skald.” Gunnlaug puts his gloves back on. “You will sing my praises tonight.”

Alric bows to Gunnlaug as deeply as he has ever bowed to my father, and the sight of it infuriates me. “Of course,” he says.

“And you.” Gunnlaug looks at me. “Girl-skald. You will sing as well. I would hear your … talent.” The edge of menace in his voice tells me that he is not yet convinced of who I am.

I nod without bowing to him.

“Come,” Gunnlaug says to his honor guard. “Per is still out there. We go man-hunting.” They march from the hall, and my worry for Per follows them. I hope he is safe, wherever he is hiding.

A few warriors remain behind to guard us, so we can’t talk freely. Bera returns to Hake’s side and feels his forehead. He has begun to shake, and there is so much blood in the straw beneath the table where they laid him. Fear and doubt over whether anyone could survive such a loss force me to look away. “What we need are our blankets from the ship,” she says. “Here, give me your cloaks. A wound-fever is setting in. If he lives through the night, I’ll be amazed.”

“He’ll live,” Harald says. “He’s the strongest man in all of Father’s lands.”

Bera half smiles and piles our cloaks on Hake. But none are long enough to cover him completely, so she lays them piecemeal, a patchwork over his chest and his heavy legs. We all find benches and settle near him, watching his teeth chatter. Our last berserker. And if Per falls, our last warrior. If Per falls, who will be left to protect us?

I whirl around on Alric. “How could you bow to him?”

“Pardon me?”

My anger rises. “How could you even think of honoring him?”

“Siv,” he says. “A story knows no honor. A story knows no allegiance. A story simply is.”

I fold my arms. “And what of the storyteller? You can show honor and allegiance in the stories you tell.”

“Ah, but whose stories? If the dragon had killed Sigurd, whose legend would we sing? What stories will be told after the breaking of the world? Stories of dead gods? I think not. After a battle, it does not matter who was good and who was evil. As a skald, you will tell the story of the victor, and in the telling you make the victor into the hero.”

I glower at him. “Sir, it sounds as if you’re saying that my … our king,
your
king has already lost.”