The Whale Road

little light we had had. I was lost in it, couldn't work out which way was which, whirled in a complete circle, then realised I was alone.

Below, at the foot of the stairs, Ulf-Agar felled someone with a meaty smack, then howled at the men in the passage beyond. I could see only the sweat-gleam of him and the whirling red bar of the hot iron.

`Fuck! Get up here. Others will come . . . !'

He heard me, backed up the stair, leaped through and slammed the door on them, standing on it. I heard them rush the stairs, the clatter as they thumped on the door. Ulf rose an inch or two; he was too slight to keep them down.

I saw light, caught him by one wrist. 'This way . . .'

I was at the front door, the one with the swinging lantern—that was the glimmering light I had seen. I hit it, smashing hard, my shoulder hunched into it. The door held and I bounced back into Ulf and the pair of us went over. Behind, I heard the trapdoor bang up and light spilled out, silhouetting the men who stumbled up the steps.

Odin's . . . Hairy . . . arse,' Ulf gasped, getting to his feet. 'It's barred on the inside, You oaf. Lift it . . .'

He had no time for anything else. The men from the cellar were on him and metal clanged as he parried and leaped. Two of them, armed with wicked long seaxes and gleaming, frenzied eyes. In the half-dark, stumbling over debris, with no sound other than Ulf s curses and everyone's ragged breathing, they closed in.

I heaved up the bar in a trembling frenzy now; the door flew open, figures suddenly loomed up and a voice— such a familiar voice, a voice that filled me with a sickening leap of such relief I almost lost control of my bladder.

`Stand aside, Orm!'

And big Skapti, clutching a fat wooden club, hurtled through the door, just as a meaty smack sounded behind me and Ulf howled. Then I was shouldered out of the way, slammed sideways out of the warehouse, where I caught my heel and fell. I lay, looking up at the rushing figures, saw Valknut, his face briefly lit in a snarling mask, Ketil Crow, almost throwing himself into the warehouse, Gunnar Raudi and his red flag of beard.

Then Einar stood, looking down at me, his hair streaming like night in the rising gale. His grin was sharp, wolfish. From inside the warehouse came the thwack and crack of wood breaking bone and laying open skulls.

I told you to watch, young Orm.'

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth; I meant to tell him of the shrieks in the night, managed only the word: 'Scream,' and he nodded, as if I had told him the whole tale.

Valknut and Skapti appeared, a limp Ulf hanging between them, his feet dragging as they hustled him out of the building. After him, thrown out bodily, came a stranger, followed by Ketil Crow and the others.

Is he dead?' Einar asked Skapti, who shook his head, his beard rippling in the wind.

`Beaten, burned, a bad cut on one shoulder, but alive.'

Einar jerked his head in the direction of the Guest Hall, then turned to where the stranger was climbing to his knees, his head hanging, gasping like a winded pony. Bloody drool hung in strands from his mouth.

Einar bent, grabbed the man by his hair and hauled the head up. 'Who is your jarl? Whose drakkar are these?'

The man's eyes rolled and there was a great dark mark all along one side of his face. His voice, mushed from his smashed mouth, was hard though. 'Fuck oor murrer.' He tried to spit, but only succeeded in slicking his own chin.

`Starkad; I said, suddenly remembering the name shouted by one of them—the one, I also remembered, with a sickening lurch, who wouldn't be shouting anything any more, from a mouth rammed full of white-hot metal.

Einar's head came up with a snap, like a hound on a scent. He looked at me, then the man at his feet, drew out a long seax from under his cloak and jerked the man's head back.

`Time to go, Einar,' Pinleg warned, looking down at the harbour, where shouts and lights split the darkness.

`Starkad Ragnarsson?' Einar demanded of. the man, ignoring Pinleg. The seax came to his nose and the man saw what would happen, blinked, swallowed snot and blood and then nodded. Einar flicked the seax up anyway, gave a sharp curse and flung the man's head away, so that he sprawled, panting and writhing like a whipped dog, the blood spurting from his split nose. Ketil Crow kicked him viciously as he passed.

They moved swiftly, in a tight group—or as tight as they could along the wooden walkways—Ketil Crow bringing up the rear, turning now and then like a huge elk at bay. We caught up with Valknut and Skapti, a moaning, half-conscious Ulf between them.

As we neared the gate out of the town, there was a flurry of discarded clubs, blades stuffed inside tunics and Ulf-Agar was swathed in Skapti's heavy blue-wool cloak, to hide his state. Like a party of drunks we spilled out of the gate, past the two bored, cold, envious guards and on to the Guest Hall.

Inside were only Oathsworn—all the women had been told to leave—and all of them were armed. Illugi had Ulf-Agar set down near the fire and bent to look at him, peeling off Skapti's cloak. Skapti took it back, staring at the ominous stains with distaste, before bundling it up and moving to stow it in his sea-chest.

Einar put mailed guards on the door, then sat by the fire, elbow on one knee, stroking his moustaches.

The Oathsworn spoke in low, quick tones, sharing the tale of the battle; now and then a sharp bark of laughter rang out.

There was a great thumping at the doors and everyone fell silent, half crouching in the red twilight like a pack of feral dogs, eyes narrowed. Steel gleamed. The thumping came again and a faint voice.

It's Bagnose,' said one of the mailed guards. Einar indicated to open the Hall door and Geir stumbled in, growling.

`Fuck you, what took you so long? Thor's farting up a gale out there and you keep me . . .' Geir fell silent, seeing the red-lit faces of armed men all staring at him, seeing that something had happened.

Einar didn't explain, simply summoned him. 'You followed the little monk?'

I did,' said Bagnose, looking round for ale. Steinthor, naked from the waist and a strapped with ragged bindings, handed him one and Bagnose grinned and swallowed. Einar waited patiently.

`He went to the Trade Harbour and a timber hov there. No, not a hov . . . a Christ temple of a sort. Half-built. He met someone there.' He paused, grinning, and took another swallow, then saw Einar's eyes growing dangerous. `Vigfus. Old Skartsmadr Mikill himself.'

Vigfus. Vigfus. The name was spread in mutters around the Hall until someone—Hring, I thought—

asked the question I wanted to ask. Who the fuck was Vigfus?

Einar ignored it. 'Has he a ship?'

A solid, fat knarr in the Trade Harbour. And maybe twenty or thirty men—good fighting men, too, fresh from Bluetooth's wars, though these ones are from the losing side, I am thinking.'

Einar stroked his moustache for a moment, then looked up at Illugi. Illugi Godi and Skapti and Ketil Crow: we will talk this out.'

`We should get out of this hall,' growled a voice from the back. 'We are trapped here.'

`What do you think will happen?' Einar shot back.

`Bluetooth's man, this Starkad, will come. If we don't come out, he will burn us until we do,' answered one called Kvasir, nicknamed Spittle.

Einar laughed, though there was no cheer in it. `Bluetooth, last I heard, was King of the Danes and Norway. Birka belongs to the King of the Swedes. He might be offended if Bluetooth's war hounds ran around killing and burning people in this main trade town.'

`No king cares about Birka. Birka is its own master,' Finn Horsehead pointed out. Tambisson is master here, in the name of the King of the Swedes. If the king still is Olof, that is. Eirik was fighting him for it, last I heard, and since Eirik is also known as Victorious, there's a clue as to which one to put your money on.'

There was laughter at that.

Tambisson it is who has allowed Bluetooth's men into Birka with full steel in their hands,' answered Valknut. 'Which gives you a clue as to whom to put your wager on for treachery. He is a practical man for money.'

There was more grim laughter at that. Einar scanned the faces, seeing the half-fearful, half-savage looks and the eyes gleaming in the red firelight. 'Stand out in the wind if you want,' he shrugged. 'But Illugi, Skapti, Ketil Crow and myself will talk this out. Quietly, over some ale, in this warm hall.'

There were mutters about holding a proper Thing over something so important and fresh arguments began. Someone—I was sure it was Eyvind—said loudly, `Burn.'