kingship or inheritance. If he ever got her back, he would renounce his claim to the throne and take up a farm. Perhaps then he would be allowed to marry her.
As they ascended the other side of the valley, they were seen. It was only a girl, nine years old and chasing with her dog along the path, but Vali knew her and he had seen her at the assembly where he had been condemned. She was Solveig, a noted mischief, doubtless on some errand from her mother as a way of stopping her waking everyone in the house.
Her face told him that she understood the implications of seeing him and, as artless as she was, she exclaimed, ‘Outlaws!’
Bragi and Vali exchanged glances but neither did anything and let the girl run. Both felt that there had been enough killing in Rogaland for one summer.
‘Can you go faster?’ said Vali.
‘You run on and I’ll catch you if I can.’
Vali smiled. ‘I’ll never sail a faering without your help,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately it’s a job for two, minimum, or I’d leave you to cut Forkbeard in two for me. Do you need the byrnie?’
Bragi slapped Vali on the shoulder. Vali could see the old fighter’s offer had been sincere but could also see that Bragi was pleased it had been refused.
‘It doesn’t slow me down,’ said Bragi.
This almost made Vali laugh. He had heard Bragi swear that he could move faster drunk in his war gear than he could sober in a tunic and trousers.
‘Then you must have been rare slow to begin with,’ said Vali.
They could hear the alarm going up in the farms behind them — shouting, the barking of dogs and the excited voices of children.
‘We’ll have one chance when we get there,’ said Vali. ‘As soon as they realise we’re taking a boat they’ll be back to the port for a drakkar. There’s a good wind, so we’ll sail out of sight of land then take the sail down and hope they can’t find us. Do you think we can make it?’
Bragi was puffing and blowing beside him. ‘I haven’t got a better plan.’
The sky was giving way to cloud coming down fast from the inland hills. Rain began and Vali was pleased. Anything that lowered visibility was to be welcomed. He’d planned to make for Haithabyr, against what Forkbeard would assume — that he would run for Hordaland. There he’d try to pick up word of the ship that had escaped with Adisla, to buy her back or if necessary steal her. If she wasn’t there
… He couldn’t think about that. Haithabyr was his only hope and, though it was a slim one, he clung to it.
Brunn’s farm was just two huts on a sheltered inlet. He made most of his living by fishing in his one little boat. Vali had no choice though: he had to take it.
It was pouring by the time they got there. The smoke rising from the vent in Brunn’s low hut made Vali wish he could stay for some food. Ma Brunn was at the door shaking out a cloth when they arrived. Her face went white when she saw them.
‘Lord Vali, Jarl Bragi,’ she said, nodding tight-lipped at them, ‘this is a surprise.’
‘Is your husband here?’ said Vali.
‘He’s down tending the boat,’ said Ma Brunn.
‘Are your sons at home?’
Ma Brunn’s hand went to her throat. ‘They are at the court, as you know. Men of fighting age have been there this last week.’
Vali nodded. At least he wouldn’t have to kill them. They were boys of twelve and fourteen, strong from years on the sea, but they wouldn’t stand against two swordsmen, let alone one of Bragi’s experience.
There was shouting and the barking of dogs.
‘I expect your boys will be here presently,’ said Vali and walked towards the shore.
He found Brunn pulling the boat down the beach towards the sea, oblivious to the rain. It was a well-built craft, high-sided to handle rough seas, four-oared and fat. On the beach it was unstable and leaned to one side like a gigantic mussel, gleaming black in the rain.
‘Brunn,’ said Vali.
‘Lord,’ said Brunn. The fisherman was a phlegmatic sort who, if he was shocked to see two named outlaws appear before him, didn’t show it.
‘Brunn,’ said Vali, ‘I have to trouble you, I’m afraid.’
‘For what, sir?’
‘For your boat.’
The clamour was becoming louder. Vali didn’t have much time.
Brunn’s eyes flicked up to see what was causing the noise. Then he looked at the weapons Vali and Bragi had by their sides.
‘It seems I am not in much of a position to refuse it,’ he said, ‘though I doubt you’ll get it out to sea in time.’
‘Apply to my father in Hordaland for compensation,’ said Vali, ‘and if I return then I am yours for whatever service you ask. On my oath.’
Three skinny boys had made the top of the beach. They were all armed with sticks.
‘If I starve this winter, then your boons will not do me much good, sir,’ said Brunn. Vali did not have time to reply to him. He and Bragi began shoving the boat down the beach. It was not light but the slope was with them. Vali glanced over his shoulder. Two farmers from outlying farms had arrived next to the boys. They were only in Eikund to answer Forkbeard’s summons and Vali hardly knew them.
‘Are the thieves taking your boat, fisherman?’
Brunn said nothing. It was an unusual situation and he was a cautious man. To call a prince of the Horda a thief was a boldness too far for him.
More farmers and a few thralls arrived, though no warriors so far. Bragi and Vali kept pushing as the men made their way down the beach. When they came within eighty paces, the boat was still five lengths from the water’s edge. Vali realised that they would not make it. He drew his sword and turned. ‘There are ten of us, lord. Let’s make this easy,’ said a stout farmer who looked like a barrel with legs.
‘There will not be ten go back,’ said Vali. ‘You know Bragi, trusted bondsman of Authun the Pitiless. The wolves howl his name, so often has he fed them.’
Vali was careful to use fine words, to impress the farmers.
It had some effect and the men paused. Vali could see their courage had reached a tipping point and could go one way or the other. He began to walk towards them, sword pointed. Unfortunately two of the men were drunk and, slapping their staves into the palms of their hands, came on.
What happened next was a blur. There was a scream from the farmstead as Ma Brunn saw what was coming. Across the beach, moving at speed, came the wolfman. He was not upright but running on all fours, his massive arms propelling him forward across the shingle. Suddenly he was between Vali and the mob, facing the farmers with a low growl. His face and hands were bloody, his eyes invisible beneath the wolf pelt. Truly he did appear to be a werewolf, a man-monster created by privation, ritual, blood and, most importantly, fear. Someone observing the scene from the safety of a boat might have simply seen a man with a wolf pelt on his head loping in a weird way towards the farmers. The farmers though, brought up on winter night stories of sorcerers who donned skins and ran as animals, saw something different entirely. Here was a creature of fireside tales come to life, staring them down beneath a black sky on a black beach, a fiend that could drag them down to Hel. The drink that had so emboldened the two men a moment before now reversed its effect, loosing unimaginable fears within them.
Feileg lowered his head and then threw it back, letting out an unearthly howl. The two drunks turned and fled. The others held their position but Vali could see they were ready to run. They seemed almost to dance upon the spot, taking a step forward, then to the side. Knives that were drawn were sheathed, and knives that were sheathed were drawn, weapons moved from hand to hand. The men glanced behind them to look for support. There was none.
‘The boat!’ It was Bragi.
Vali turned and resumed shoving as the wolfman stood seething and growling in front of the farmers.
