“The king requests your presence,” a boy’s voice piped up. “Wall. Now. Both of you,” he added.
Runar smiled again, winked at Jorn, and motioned toward the door.
They found King Olav standing above the north gate, looking out. In front of him, Stenvik Forest was a wall of red, yellow, and brown, with only occasional dabs of green.
“I have sought guidance on the matter. We will send a delegation to Hakon Jarl.”
“A delegation, my Lord?” said Jorn. “But Hakon will—”
King Olav turned and looked at them. His smile was cold. “Jorn, you are a loyal servant, and Christ commends you for your work. But you speak too much and too quickly. Like I said: listen more. We are going north to talk to the jarl. Our delegation will number three thousand men.”
Jorn took a few breaths to compose himself and digest the information. “As you wish, your Majesty. Who do you want with you, and who are you leaving behind?”
“I will take you both with me. Finn will stay behind, command in Stenvik, and speak with my authority.” King Olav turned again, and Jorn risked a quick look at Runar. He got a grin and a wink in return.
“Very good,” Jorn hazarded. “Which men will you take?”
“I want at least eight hundred archers, eight hundred foot, pike, and as much experienced horse as we can carry. The rest is at your discretion. You’ve got a head for this.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Jorn replied.
“That is all.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you,” Jorn said. Runar was already moving toward the stairs.
When they reached the ground, Runar turned toward him. His eyes positively sparkled. “W-we n-n-n-need to talk!” he stuttered.
Jorn simply gestured toward the hut.
Once they’d closed the door, Runar bounded around the cabin. “Perfect. Perfect!” he exclaimed. “You’ve already got the men from the Dales on your side. I’ve t-talked to some of the boys from the southeast—some of them could be swayed. Skeggi, B-b-botolf, and his brother Ingimar might all cross over, and I think that would make up a good four hundred at the least. Now all we n-n-need to do is get them on the right boats. Put K-king Olav in a boat with us, thirty of our men, boat gets lost, and the king finally gets to meet his precious m-m-maker.” Runar grinned from ear to ear.
Jorn frowned. “Keep your voice down. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. It sounds stupid to me, and King Olav isn’t stupid.”
“Even s-smart people make mistakes,” Runar said, still grinning. “Sometimes they don’t know they’re m-making them until it’s too late.”
Valgard shuddered and pressed harder into the chair. It was starting to feel like King Olav’s longhouse would never be warm. They’d been in the middle of converting another raider to the good side when the boy had come to summon them. The man had not been . . . cooperative. Yet another soul which would not be joining Christ in heaven. He couldn’t help but think that the way this was going, the other side would be having one bastard of a war party.
King Olav gestured for them to approach. “I have consulted with higher powers. You were right yesterday, Valgard. We should strike, and strike now. Waiting is the wrong thing to do. So we’ll take three thousand men up north. Finn, you will stay behind and control this town in my stead. Valgard, you will stay with him to negotiate with the men of Stenvik. You’re one of them; they will trust you.”
Valgard had to fight to keep the panic off his face. He hadn’t been able to go back to his hut after yesterday’s meeting. Instead he’d walked the town, treading paths he’d stopped walking since the battle, allowing his mind to wander and listening to the sounds of the town, the voices in the huts. He’d almost been able to taste it; in his mind he had been on his way to the mysterious north to seek the source of the magic. To find the power. And now it was all being taken away. He had to think of something, fast. “Erm, your Majesty, I am not sure they’ll trust me too much. They will not forgive me for abandoning the old gods.”
“Do you fear them?” The king looked mildly curious.
“I am not a warrior,” Valgard said. “I have lived in this town all my life, endured their taunts—they hated me because I couldn’t fight,