the edge on the other side of the square and started stacking it haphazardly. In the oddly coordinated chaos of the harbor, the impossibility of mobilizing an army struck Runar. How did it ever work? So many men working toward a common goal. The fact that there had been only four fights so far among the thousand men at work was nothing short of remarkable.
A slim, scarred man sidled up to him, apparently out of nowhere. “Tomorrow,” he said.
“Botolf.” Runar said. “Well met. Are you r-ready for tomorrow?”
“We are.”
“On the boat, we want—”
“I know what you want. But we haven’t talked about—”
“R-r-reward?” Runar said.
“Correct,” the slim man replied. There was a glint of greed in his eyes as he brushed thin strands of black hair from his face. “And the Prince of the Dales is ready to promise, is he?”
He might be the ruling lord of large parts of the southern coast and a powerful ally, but Botolf Ornsson thoroughly repulsed Runar. “Y-you will b-b—” He fought back the fury, drew a deep breath, and looked Botolf straight in the eye. “You will be rewarded.”
The chieftain smiled and nodded. “I just wanted to make sure we’re clear on this. I know the Dalefolk well, cousins on my mother’s side, but I know my men better. And I’ve never seen anyone block a dagger with a favor.”
Runar smiled back. “Acts of faith are rewarded, Botolf.”
Botolf’s scars danced on his face as he smiled. For a moment, Runar thought he saw something in them, some kind of emotion, but it was gone in an instant. “Let’s hope so, Runar,” he said.
“B-b-battle nerves,” Runar muttered to himself as Botolf sauntered away without a care in the world. “Of c-course he’s concerned. After all, what we’re going to do . . .” Thinking about the moment made him smile. The moment when King Olav would realize that he was not among his imagined true believers after all. The moment when the king’s men would become Jorn’s men, take up pikes and swords, spear the king like a pig, slit his throat, and throw him overboard. The look on his face—
In the distance, he noted that Botolf had stopped by a house and appeared to be addressing someone out of sight within. Moments later Skeggi emerged, clasped Botolf’s arm in a warrior’s grip, and turned toward Runar’s vantage point.
Runar watched him approach. Where Botolf was all slinking menace and fox-like grace, Skeggi was the bull in the field. The likes of him were precisely why King Olav had done what he did—small kings who ruled with an iron fist and a generous helping of dimwitted cruelty. It was only animal cunning that had landed Skeggi on King Olav’s side. He’d been quicker than the others to see which way the wind was turning. Runar raised a hand to the warrior.
“Botolf tells me you’ve promised a reward,” he said the moment he was in earshot.
Runar bit back a response and forced a nodding smile. “Th-th-that is t-true,” he countered. “B-but we cannot go into detail right now.”
“Right,” Skeggi said. “Never know who’s listening, eh?”
“Right. Well observed,” Runar said and gave the big lump of a man a conspiratorial wink he suspected would largely go to waste. “W-we d-d-don’t need to say to Botolf, for example, that whoever takes c-care of getting one king out of the way can expect r-rewards from the n-next.”
Skeggi’s thick brow furrowed even further as he puzzled out the meaning of the words. When he finally arrived at the destination he wished to reach, his face lit up. “Right,” he rumbled and tapped his thrice-broken nose. “Tomorrow morning. What happens?”
“We will try to get lines going from the south gate,” Runar said, pointing, “and divide the men down to the east and west. You and Botolf will provide us with ten men each; they’ll board the king’s ship. It’s the one over there with the dragon’s head.”
“Mighty fine boat,” Skeggi said. “I’ll be on that one, too. Just to make sure everything goes right.”
Runar’s mind raced. “Is . . . are you sure? It would p-possibly be b-better if, um—”
The big man fixed him with a stare that was neither dull nor slow. Thick bands of muscle flexed under his shift. “I’m going on that boat. As is Botolf. You can’t ask us just for our men. I want to be there when it goes down—to see the look on his face.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And you want to be up close for that