Chapter 1: The Start (1)

***

"You know what I think?" Yngvar said to Alasdair. He sat with Bjorn in the prow, a spear across his lap as they sailed south along the coast of Norway's largest island. The crew had spent much time staring at him since he'd returned from Gorm's hall. They were too afraid of being accused by their own king for letting Thorfast die and failing to bring back proof that he lived or died. Even after two days, no one spoke up about it. It was like everyone knew how deeply they felt this failure and didn't want to be seen admitting it to others. But there was only so long a man could hide such shame before people began whispering behind your back. And if you failed in battle against an enemy who outnumbered you ten-to-one? There would not be any hiding place then either.

So now all eyes turned toward him. As though he might have some insight into the matter.

He smiled at them but did not answer. Instead he stared out over the gray sea where whitecaps broke on dark waves. A breeze blew off the water, smelling fresh despite its saltiness. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him of the meager meal served at King Hakon's table. Afterward, he had wandered through the halls until finding himself outside. Now he stood alone atop the forecastle while men worked below deck. No doubt the rest of his friends were also enjoying themselves elsewhere aboard ship.

Bjorn leaned forward and rested his elbows on the gunwales. "Well, tell us what happened."

Yngvar shrugged. "I don't know anything more than when we left. We found Erik dead in his bedchamber. Then we fled."

Alasdair cleared his throat, standing beside Yngvar. Though his face remained neutral, something flickered deep within his blue eyes. Did he suspect Yngvar was lying? Or did he guess why Yngvar had gone ashore without permission? Neither possibility pleased him.

But Bjorn shook his head. "We're going to find our boy."

"And kill anyone else who stands between us," added Brandr. He joined Bjorn at the rail, leaning forward as well.

The three brothers shared a smile. Only Einar seemed disinterested. He sat apart from the group, drawing lines in sand using a stick. Whenever someone glanced his way, he looked away. Everyone except Alasdair thought Einar disliked them. Yet he never complained or showed contempt. If anything, he treated each brother equally, even sharing stories and jokes with them. But he always fell silent whenever Yngvar mentioned Thorfast. Perhaps he feared seeming disloyal.

They continued sailing down the coastline. Every village they passed sent runners ahead to warn the inhabitants to evacuate. In every case, the villages emptied like frightened sheep. By evening they saw nothing but ruins scattered around the shoreline. Once land became visible once more, the ships followed the coastline north.

At first Yngvar considered turning inland for fear of encountering the Danes. But eventually he decided that if Gorm held lands here, he must keep a close watch upon these shores. So instead they skirted the coast until nightfall. At last they anchored offshore in shallow waters beneath cliffs of black rock. Their plan was to set fire arrows into buildings during the darkness, which should draw any defenders out onto the beach.

Once the fires burned low, they rowed ashore under cover of darkness. Despite the lack of moonlight, the stars provided enough light for them to navigate safely among rocks and hidden coves. When dawn came, they took advantage of the daylight hours to scout and search. For an entire day they explored abandoned homes and farms. Finding neither signs nor bodies of men killed in battle, Yngvar grew convinced that Gorm had withdrawn all forces from this region. Had he simply been called home to defend against another attack? Either way, he deemed this place safe enough to sleep ashore.

On the second morning, Yngvar awoke to hear shouting. He rolled aside and blinked awake to see Alasdair shaking him.

"Lord!" he shouted. "There is movement onshore! Men running about everywhere."

His heart leapt into his mouth. Was this raiders returning? Had the gods punished him for leaving Thorfast to die? He scrambled from the blanket he used as a pillow.

He jumped to his feet and drew his sword. "Get me my mail shirt. All of it."

Eirik's war banner flew above the mast. The sight of it filled him with relief. These were likely Danish warriors come back to their hall after fleeing Erik Blood-Axe's wrath. They would be too drunk to think straight. He could take care of such fools easily.

Brandr grabbed his arm before rushing up the plank ladder. "Wait until you've got your armor on. We want surprise."

In truth, no one wanted surprise. It was foolishness to run into armed men unprepared. But there was little choice. Besides, the enemy might flee rather than meet such obvious strength.

When he reached the top, he paused only long enough to pull on his pants then threw open the door. Alasdair met him with two shields slung across his shoulder. Bjorn and Hamar flanked him behind the shield wall, both wearing helmets and carrying spears.

"Gods save us," said Bjorn. His voice echoed off the walls of the small cove where they'd landed.

Hamar laughed. "Where are the damned Danes?"

"Here somewhere," said Yngvar. A dark shape raced along the cliffside toward the surf crashing below. The rest of the shadowed shapes appeared behind it. "Run and get ready to repel boarders. I'll go right. You go left."

As soon as he gave the command, the four other Wolves ran downhill. He heard clanging steel as weapons clashed and shouts of alarm rose over the noise of waves breaking on stone. Yngvar pulled his helmet on and jammed his foot into a stirrup. As he slid into the saddle, he raised his spear overhead.

This fight would end today. No matter how many enemies faced him, none would live through the slaughter to follow.

***

Yngvar charged uphill, screaming his rage at the unseen foes. He felt as though he floated atop the horse, not riding it. He drove his spear downward, expecting the point to bury itself deep into flesh. Instead, it struck something hard. With a grunt of pain, he pushed harder. The shaft bent double then snapped.

Before he knew what happened, the tip of his broken spear plunged into his own leg just above the knee. Pain exploded inside his head. He reeled sideways and crashed to the ground. Something slammed into the side of his face. Stars burst in front of his eyes. Then everything went black.

The next thing he remembered was cold water splashing across his face. Someone screamed nearby. He opened his eyes to find himself lying flat on sand. Above him stood Brandr and several others holding shields aloft. Beyond lay a rocky beach strewn with debris. Waves lapped at the stones. To either side, the sea stretched away forever.

"Are you well?" asked Brandr. He crouched beside Yngvar, who now realized he wore nothing but his undershorts. He sat up slowly, wincing at every move. Both legs throbbed painfully beneath him. Yet more blood oozed down his thigh and onto the white sand.

"I'm fine," he answered. "What did we hit?"

Bjorn answered instead. "Some sort of rock sticking out of the ocean floor. Looks like someone dropped a boulder or a shipwreck."

"They're coming," added Einar. From high up the slope, he pointed to the distant line of shadowy figures emerging from the trees. Their faces were hidden by hoods, so he could not tell if any were familiar. For all he knew, these were yet another group of Danes returned home.

But when they emerged from between the rocks, he saw that the first wave carried no shields. In fact, most held no weapon at all. Those who had spears seemed confused and unsure why they should hold them against an unarmed foe. The second wave bore shields, but those also lacked swords. Most looked as bewildered as their fellows.

Yet they came forward anyway.

Yngvar cursed under his breath. This battle could have been avoided. Now he must kill everyone here regardless of whether they were friends or enemies.

"We can't let them reach our ships," he said. "There is still time for escape. Let's drive them into the water."

His companions nodded, although some grimaced at the thought of killing their former allies.

"Let me lead the attack," said Thorfast.

"No," replied Yngvar. "You will stay close to me. Our plan depends upon surprise. If you fall, my task becomes impossible."

Thorfast stared at him with narrowed eyes, then glanced around. At last, he shrugged. "Very well. But don't expect much help from me once this begins."

He drew his sword and set aside his shield. The rest followed suit. They formed three lines facing the approaching warriors. Yngvar took position at the rear, where the enemy might be driven into the sea. He kept one hand on his dagger hilt. The other rested on the pommel of his short sword. He waited until the men before him raised their arms.

Then he shouted.

"For Frankia!"

A hundred throats joined him as he yelled.

"For Frankia! For Odin!"

Again the shout rang out. Every man on shore repeated it back. When they finished, they braced themselves and prepared to charge.

At least, Yngvar hoped they would charge. It would be easier to avoid combat than actually engage in it. His heart hammered in his chest. A thin trickle of sweat rolled down his forehead despite the cool air. He readied his blade, ready to stab anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

He expected the enemy to hesitate and flee. That never occurred. Instead, they continued toward the waiting Vikings, perhaps encouraged by their numbers. Once within striking distance, they stopped altogether. Some began to speak among themselves. Others laughed aloud. One even threw off her cloak and jumped into the surf. She ran naked along the wet sands, waving both hands over her head. Her shrieks echoed across the waves.

She was soon caught by two of her comrades, who wrestled her out of sight behind the rocks. Yngvar wondered how long she remained there while they enjoyed her company. Did she enjoy herself? Was she enjoying her freedom? Or did she merely want something else to think about during this dull moment?

Whatever the case, her antics bought only a few moments of delay. Soon the entire mass of the army gathered together again. Voices rose in anger as they faced the small band of Norsemen.

Yngvar smiled. These were fools indeed.

Brandr stepped forward. "Who are you people? What do you seek here?"

One of the leaders waved a dismissive arm at Brandr. "Your own kind has killed us. We've come to find justice."

Brandr's brow furrowed. "Justice for what?"

The leader turned away, shouting orders at his followers.

"It doesn't matter," said Bjorn. "Kill 'em all."

***

Yngvar watched the fight unfold. He stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach and the dark shapes of the enemy below. Behind him, the others engaged the enemy. Each clash sounded like thunder rolling across the sky. Yet Yngvar felt nothing but dread.

The enemy numbered more than thirty-five and every face wore a sneer of contemptuous superiority. No doubt each believed himself destined for greatness and now found himself humbled by these barbarians. So many years had passed since the days when their ancestors sailed from Norway laden with gold and slaves. How far they had fallen.

As though reading his thoughts, one of the enemy called up to him.

"Are you not ashamed to stand idle while your brothers die? You are free men too, aren't you?"

In truth, Yngvar wished to join the fray. He wanted to leap down and cut apart any of these arrogant bastards.