have th-thirty sacks of grain left, forty head of s-smoked lamb . . . Th-they managed to treat what Sigurd had slaughtered and s-save most of it . . . herbs for soup, sixty sacks of turnip—”
“Take what you think you’ll need,” King Olav said. “You’ve proved valuable, Runar. I do not doubt that you provide a lot of ideas for Jorn. We start the fitting tomorrow morning. We sail as soon as we can.”
“Th-thank you, your M-m-mah—”
A dismissive wave of King Olav’s hand stopped Runar in his tracks. “That’s enough. Go. Do what you need to. I have things to do.”
Jorn and Runar rose quietly and left the longhouse. When they’d gone, King Olav walked over to the makeshift altar and knelt.
“Father,” he muttered, “Father, tell me that this is right. I will risk the deaths of hundreds of my men, Norse warriors who have learned to love you and Jesus Christ. Give me some sign that you value your servant.”
A stillness filled the longhouse. Outside, the autumn light faded as afternoon turned to evening. The door to the longhouse opened slowly, and Finn entered with Valgard close behind. After a short while, the big warrior cleared his throat.
King Olav rose without a word. He moved to the dais and motioned for them to approach.
“I’m glad you are here, Finn. We need to talk about your reign as chieftain of Stenvik.” He smiled. “No need to look so worried, my friend. It will all work very well. Valgard will counsel you and make sure you don’t step on any toes.”
Valgard cleared his throat. “If I may, your Majesty. There is one thing I must mention to you. It is very important. I think that you should be careful—”
One of King Olav’s guards burst in. “My King! My King!”
“You will salute!” Finn shouted. “What do you want?”
“It’s . . . it’s Sven and Sigurd! The guard just told me to come fetch you!”
“What?” the king snapped.
“They’re not breathing!”
NEAR BYGLAND, WEST NORWAY
OCTOBER, AD 996
The morning sunlight filtered through the yellowing canopy. Leaves crisp with night-frost crunched under Audun’s feet. He had no idea what this wood was called—it was somewhere south, toward the sea. That was enough.
He needed to get away: away from this country, away from people, away from anyone who knew what happened in Stenvik.
Anywhere would do.
The hill was steep but not impossible to climb. He picked his way over broken branches, minding his step around treacherous mossy stones. The forest was slower going, but it was better than the roads. He hadn’t yet seen any of King Olav’s men and wanted it to stay that way.
He thought of Stenvik again.
The hot, metallic air in the forge.
The sounds of weapons clashing, men screaming, skulls crushing.
The stench of the blood.
Audun slapped his arm, hard.
“Stop,” he croaked. His throat hurt with the strange effort of speaking. He swallowed and tried again. “Stop it,” he tried.
Better.
Audun hadn’t said anything in a while. Nothing to say, anyway, and no one to say it to. Ulfar had walked off east; he’d decided not to follow—maybe it had been the right thing to do, maybe not. He spat and cleared his throat. “So where should I go, then?” he asked the trees. “South?” Nobody answered. “Why not.” There was something in his voice that sounded strange. An edge. “Only graybeards and halfwits speak to themselves anyway,” he snarled as he crested the hill.
On the way down, his feet slipped, and he had to grab a branch to steady himself. He regained his balance, stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and scratched at his chest through the hole in the tunic. “Oh, for f—” Audun jerked his hand away as if he’d touched fire. Since Stenvik . . . since a couple of days after Stenvik, when he’d recovered fully, he’d tried to stop scratching the spot where—
No. He pushed the memory away.
The ground sloped sharply ahead of him, and he could see over the tops of the trees. The forest thinned out at the foot of the hill, and gentle waves of farmland stretched as far as he could see. A reedy road meandered over the nearest rise. Far in the distance he thought he could see a thin blue line—the sea.
“South will do,” he muttered.
A twig snapped above and behind him. Much too close.
Audun whirled around.
There were four of them. Somehow they’d sneaked up onto the crest behind him without making any noise. They looked just like he did, filthy, ragged, and