was the giant crone who had wrestled with Thor, the one who was really Old Age.
I could see where that could be. . diminishing to a man of sensitive nature. I said as much and Finn drained his mug, slapped it angrily on the table and lurched off to the whore, looking to soak his black rage in the white light of sweaty humping.
I sat back, easing. Brother John was right; we had all needed this. Now. . it was clear Starkad was working for Architos Choniates, the merchant. We needed to-
Then, of course, Odin's curse kicked in the door.
Well, Short Eldgrim did, slamming through in a hiss of damp wind and curses from those nearest as it washed them, swirling the lantern smoke. He spotted me, bustled his way through and sat, breathing heavily, the network of scars on his face made whiter by its weather-red. `Starkad,' he growled. `He's coming up the street with men at his back.'
`That's useful,' muttered Kvasir. 'I want to see his face when he finds out he has picked the last drinking place in the world he wants to be in.'
One!' roared the crowd behind us. Elli was showing how many silver coins she could stick on the sweat of her bared breasts. Kvasir grinned. 'She cheats — she uses honey. I tasted it once.'
`Pass the word,' I said softly. Odin's hand, for sure — I knew One Eye would not let that sword fly from us so lightly, that he had walked the thief right into our clutches.
`Three!' Elli was doing well behind us.
Short Eldgrim nodded and slid away. Behind us, a coin slid from Elli's ample, sweaty charms and the crowd roared. Brother John swallowed ale and narrowed his eyes.
A dangerous place to confront him,' he said, looking round at the crowd.
Odin chooses,' I said flatly and he glanced at me, who was now, supposedly, a prime-signed Christ- follower.
I hope that is Roman for 'kill them all and let Christ Jesus sort them out', little man,' Finn growled, for he hated folk talking in tongues he did not understand. Since he did not understand any other than west Norse, he was frequently red in the face. Someone bumped him and he rounded savagely, slamming the man with an elbow. For a moment, it looked like trouble, but the man saw who it was and backed off, hands held up, aghast at having offended the Oathsworn. Skythians, they called us, or Franks — those who knew a little more used
Then the man himself came in, shoving through the door, pausing in a way that let me know, at once, that it was no accident, his arrival in the Dolphin. Heads turned to look; conversation died and silence drifted in with the cold rain-wind at the sight of him and the two behind him, openly armed, wearing mail and helms.
That only revealed that Starkad and his crew had a powerful new friend in the Great City.
`Starkad,' I said and it was like the slap of a blade on the table. Silence fell, voices ceased one by one when they heard their own echo and heads turned as people sensed the hackle-rise tension that had crept into the fug and lantern smoke. Finn's scowl threatened to split his brow and he growled. Radoslav looked quizzically from one to the other and, even in that moment, I saw the merchant in him, setting us in scales and balancing our enemies on the other pan to see who was worth more.
Starkad was splendid, I had to allow. He was still handsome, but pared away, as if some fire had melted the sleek from him, leaving him wolf-lean, with eyes sunk deep and cheekbones that threatened to break through the skin.
Wound fever, I thought, seeing how bad his limp was — Einar had given him a sore mark, right enough, that day on a hill in the Finns' land. The Norns' weave is a strange pattern: Einar was now dead and Starkad was standing there in a red tunic, blue wool breeks, a fine, fur-lined cloak fastened with an expensive pin and a silver jarl torc round his neck. He was, it seemed, making sure I knew his worth.
`So, Orm Ruriksson,' he said. There was a shifting round me, the little sucking-kiss sound of eating knives coming out of sheaths. I placed my hands flat on the table. He had two others at his back — one with squint eyes — but I knew there would be more outside, ready to rush to his aid.
`Starkad Ragnarsson,' I acknowledged — then froze, for he was wearing a sword at his side and he and his men had dared swagger through Miklagard with weapons openly, which fact had to be considered.
Not just any sword. My sword. The rune-serpent blade he had stolen.
He saw that I had spotted it. He had a smile like the curve of that blade and, behind me, I felt the heat and the stir and heard the low rumble of a growl. Finn.
I have heard of the death of Einar,' Starkad said, making no effort to come closer. 'A pity, for I owed him a blow.'
`Consider it Odin luck, since he would have balanced you up with a stroke to the other leg if you had met again,' I replied evenly, the blood thundering in my ears, ringing out the question of how he came to be wearing that sword. Had he stolen it from Choniates, too? Had the Greek given it to him — if so, why?
Starkad flushed. 'You yap well for a small pup. But you are running with bigger hounds now.'
`Just so,' I answered. This was easy work, for Starkad was not the sharpest adze in the shipyard for wordplay. 'Since we are speaking of dogs — have you been back to sniff Bluetooth's arse? Does that King know that you have lost both the fine ships he gave you? No, I didn't think so. I am thinking he may not stroke your belly, no matter how well you roll on your back at his feet.'
The flush deepened and he laid one hand casually on the hilt of the sabre by way of reply. He saw me stiffen and thought it recognition of the blade and smiled again, recovering. In truth, it was the sight of his pale fingers, like the legs of a spider, sliding along the marks I had made on the hilt, watching them unconsciously trace the scratches, all unknowing.
`Look. .' began the tavern-owner, his hands trembling as he wiped them over and over on his apron. 'I want no trouble here. .'
`Then fasten yer hole shut,' growled the squint-eyed man, his affliction adding to the savagery of his tongue. The tavern-owner winced and backed off. I saw little Drozd sidle away from us, as though we had plague.
`King Harald can spare two such ships,' Starkad went on dismissively. 'I have been tasked with something and will travel to the edge of the world to obey my King.'
I mock-sighed and waved an airy jarl hand at a seat, as if in invitation to discuss this matter that troubled him. I hoped to get him closer, away from the door and the men at his back and the ones I was sure were outside. There would be a fight and blood, since they had weapons and we did not and that would bring the authority of the Great City down on us, but still. .
He was polished as a marble step and no fool. 'You are not what I seek, boy,' he said with a sneer that refused my invitation. 'Nor any of these who treat you like a ring-giver on a gifthrone, for all that you have neither seat, nor neck ring, nor even ship to mark you. No sword, either, since I took it.'
He drew back a little from his hate then and forced a smile into my face, which I knew was pale and stricken. I felt the Oathsworn behind me, trembling like ale at an over-full brim and Finn, quivering, barely leashed, finally snapped his bonds.
A bench went over with a clatter and he howled himself forward at Starkad, who whipped that sabre out with a hiss of sound, fast as the flick of an adder's tongue. Finn, with nothing but his fists, came up two foot short of Starkad's face, with the point of the rune-serpent sword at his neck. Someone squealed; Elli, I thought dully.
I held up my hand and leashed the others, which act gave me a measure of stone-smoothness, for Starkad noted that and was impressed, despite himself. I could hardly breathe; I wondered if he knew how deadly that blade against Finn's neck truly was. Even just resting it left a thin, red line. For his part, Finn had froth at the edges of his mouth and I knew that one more comment and he would run his neck up the blade, just to get his hands round Starkad's own.
I have heard tales of this blade,' Starkad said softly. 'It cut an anvil, I hear.'
`Just so,' I agreed, dry-mouthed. 'Perhaps, Finn, you should come and sit by me. Your head is hard, but not harder than the anvil that blade was forged on.'
The rigid line of Finn softened a little and he took a step backward, away from the blade. Each step laboured,
