Bug-eye’s shouted commands they soon had a work-party going. Valgard stood to the side, hunched over. He was wet and cold and hurting like a bastard. He didn’t even consider offering to help. If he did have a shovel, he’d just be getting in their way.
While the men worked to clear the snow, Botolf conferred with Thora. The chieftain looked tense; like a caged animal. He was pointing to the far end of the valley and scowling, but the woman didn’t appear to care; she was all smiles, shaking her head and grinning. Botolf motioned for Bug-eye to come over, and the trek-master stood impassively at his side, like an ugly cow, and listened, nodding occasionally. When Botolf had finished giving orders, Ormslev turned smartly and strode toward the work party, pointing, shouting, and gesturing. Valgard followed the chieftain’s eyes. An odd-shaped shadow halfway up the hillside caught his eye. Was that . . . a cave? Something in the valley was worrying Botolf, and Valgard didn’t like to admit how uneasy that made him feel.
The men fell into a rhythm. Snow flew up above their heads, covering the midday sun. They dug themselves down into the sparkling white snow, and soon nothing was visible but the ridges of the enclosing hills and the blue sky above. Valgard shuffled along behind them, staying as close to the warm horses as he dared. The party trudged along, inch by inch, heading straight for the center of the valley.
“Our hosts look to have been away a while,” Botolf said as they approached the first covered house. The four men in front redoubled their efforts, and soon carved fenceposts rose from the snow. Farther still, and a big plank of wood emerged.
“Look!” The first of the shovel crew pointed. “’s a door!” He banged it with his shovel.
The cloud of white rose and fell, revealing four snowmen and a bare roof.
The soldiers laughed and cheered. Even Bug-eye stirred.
“Come on, you lazy bastards,” Botolf shouted at the fresh piles of snow. “Stop playing around!” The snow mound in the middle trembled, and a hand burst out. Clawing at the air and flailing about, all it managed to do was to draw more laughter from the men.
“So much for a cautious approach,” Thora muttered.
“Whoever’s around has known we were coming for a long time,” Botolf said under his breath. “It’s been a good bit of walk. They need a laugh. You need to relax.”
Thora shot Botolf a look that said a lot of things and muttered something very quickly and quietly. Botolf didn’t reply, but a smirk spread across his weathered face. Valgard observed their exchange and marveled at the spiky-haired woman. He’d watched her glide into the fellowship of the men: one moment they were an impregnable circle of scowls; the next, she was one of them. She’d won them over like he knew he never could. When the prisoners in Stenvik had told him of Skargrim’s boatswoman, it had sounded like so much nonsense; he had not been able to connect that to the screaming, knife-wielding maniac who had come crashing through Stenvik’s gates. Now it took effort to remember that she probably wanted him dead and could kill him with nothing more than a flick of her wrist.
The unfortunate diggers emerged from the drift, shaking themselves and cursing their fellow travelers, who answered back in kind.
“This is just a cabin. Find the longhouse,” Botolf snapped and started wading through the snow. Silence and focus spread in waves among the men, and they fell in line behind him.
Up close, Egill Jotun’s snowbound longhouse was a thing of beauty. They shoveled the white powder off the steps, and Botolf moved to the fore with Thora by his side.
“You’ve been here before,” he said to Thora.
“Which makes you my guest. After your good self,” she answered immediately, bowing toward the door.
Botolf grinned. With one hand on his blade, he pulled open the great carved door.
Black forms exploded out of the darkness in a flurry of flapping wings. Botolf had sidestepped with terrifying quickness and crouched, his eyes trained on the dark space within. The birds were out and gone in a flash.
“Ravens?” he asked.
Thora did not reply. The men traded glances. Behind Valgard, one of the soldiers muttered, “Two of them. Odin does not want us to—”
Someone else walloped the man and hissed, “Shut up, you idiot.”
Without a word, Botolf disappeared inside, and Thora followed him like a shadow.