my brother,” the tall man hissed. With that he was up and gone, wading into the darkness and the pile of bodies.
Blinded by the sparks, it took Audun a couple of breaths to come to his senses.
“Fenrir take your bones,” he snarled. “All of you.” He rose and strode into the fray.
Bjorn did not speak to him for two days. Breki’s jaw was bruised, and both his eyes were swollen; he still managed to glare. The townsfolk gave them all a wide berth.
Audun sighed. He really didn’t have a knack with people.
He’d tended the horses; there was nothing else to do. He couldn’t walk any farther south without getting wet fast. The ocean seemed to surround him, fill out his field of vision, mock him with its serene infinity. All straight lines . . .
And one sail.
A ship was heading for the Sands.
Without thinking, Audun hurried toward the makeshift harbor. When he approached, he saw that others had indeed noticed. A group of hard sailors had taken up positions to meet the newcomers. Some held clubs, some leaned on spears, some wore swords or axes in their belts.
It felt as if the ship was taking forever to get there. Around Audun, hands tightened on weapon grips.
The fat man who had met them at the pier elbowed his way to the front. “Who goes there?” he bellowed.
“Oh, shut up, Ivar,” someone shouted from the stern. “And tell your boys to calm down.”
Ivar turned around with a big smile on his face. “It’s all fine. It’s Hrutur.”
A ripple of relief spread through the assembled men. Loud, nervous chatter replaced muttered curses, and some of them called out well-meaning insults to the approaching captain. Shouted commands guided the ship into the dock. She was a stout knarr with five cross-benches for rowers. Audun noted that not all of them were manned.
“Come on, you old bastard!” Ivar shouted. The captain barked a string of orders, and the ship docked smoothly. A wiry man leapt ashore and embraced the fat chieftain, who punched his arm.
“Welcome back, brother.”
“Thank you,” the leathery-skinned captain replied. “Can’t stop, though. It’s worse out there every day, and we’ll need all we can get. Men, supplies, anything.”
“Right,” Ivar said. “You!” he snapped, pointing at Audun. “Get your big-mouth friend down here—right now if he wants to do any trade.”
When Audun brought Breki and the carts, the men on the docks were nearly done unloading the ship. Piles of furs, sacks of flour, and barrels of fish stood on the harbor. Townsmen were ferrying barrels, boxes, and sacks toward the harbor—woodcarvings, amber jewelry, bars of marsh iron. Ivar and Hrutur stood to the side, locked in heated discussion.
“That the captain?” Breki said.
Audun nodded.
Breki strode toward Hrutur. The swelling was down, but the short man’s face was all the more colorful for it. “Well met, Captain,” he said.
“Well met. Is this Breki?” he asked Ivar, who nodded. “My brother says you have trade.”
“Amber, cloth, wool, and furs.”
“On the carts?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds good. How much?”
“Fifty silvers for the lot.”
“Hm. Forty.”
“Done. And I’ll need passage for six people.”
Hrutur’s laugh was short and sharp. “I’m not a ferryman. Can’t help you.”
What was still white in Breki’s face turned beetroot red. “But—but—”
“I need the speed, and the Danes don’t want more people. Still forty?”
Suddenly Breki looked completely deflated. “Forty-five,” he muttered.
“Done.” The sea captain spat in his hand and extended it. Breki reached out, squeezed it, and walked off without a second look at Audun.
“Poor man,” Ivar said.
“Seen worse,” Hrutur said. “Don’t need passengers. I just need a couple of oarsmen.”
Audun cleared his throat.
The ship had been filled with supplies, the men rested and fed. Audun had found his place on the empty rowing berth and got to grips with his oar.
“Off you go and may Njordur’s blessing see you safely across,” Ivar intoned.
“And may Freyr keep you out of too many wives’ beds while I’m gone,” the captain shouted back.
A small crowd had gathered to wave them off. The caravan brothers were nowhere to be seen.
Audun sighed and tried to quell the rising anxiety in his stomach. But if King Olav was on his trail, at least he’d make the bastard chase him across the sea.
“A lot of them out today,” a burly sailor behind him said.
“We’re the first in two weeks,” another said.
“Two weeks?”
“Hel’s tits.”
“Yes, boys, and don’t you forget who you have to thank for that,” Hrutur snarled. “Don’t think too hard about it; otherwise you’ll shit yourselves. Just get going!”
Audun leaned into the oar and