The White Raven

as you did his.'

'I see you, Sigurd Axebitten,' I answered and he nodded, then hesitated.

'Take care of my sister's son. It took a deal of time to find him in the first place.'

'Since I found him in the first place, I am unlikely to put him in harm's way,' I reminded him. I laid a hand on Crowbone's shoulder, as he trembled in the aftermath of what he had done. Less than before, I noted; killing got easier each time you did it and I had no doubt that, one day, little Crowbone would not tremble at all after a day's slaughter.

'An adventure in a strange place, some sweet things to eat and then home,' said another voice and I knew who it was before I saw him, remembered the same words, spoken by Short Eldgrim to soothe a boy wounded by an arrow on the shores of Cyprus and near death. Jon Asanes had the white scar of that on his ribs still, but now he was wrapped tight in a blue cloak, standing behind Sigurd.

'Heya, Goat. Boy,' yelled Short Eldgrim, as Jon Asanes came up to stand alongside Sigurd. 'You are on the wrong boat.'

'Am I?' asked Jon, but it was Thorgunna who answered, climbing unsteadily to her feet and held there by Thordis. She said nothing, simply spat in the water; Jon's pale face bowed between them and his cry of anguish was sharp.

'No mercy?' asked Finn softly.

Thorgunna's black eyes raked him. 'Mercy is between him and his White Christ,' she answered hoarsely. 'My only obligation to Jon Asanes is to arrange the meeting.' She handed me the hilt of Kvasir's sword with a hard, black-eyed look.

That was bleak enough to stop all conversation and Finn was hurting in his ribs too much to argue, while my head pounded and sickness welled in me.

I stood watching, all the same, Kvasir's sword dangling limp and accusing from one hand, the other on Crowbone's shoulder as we rowed away from his uncle and Jon Asanes, while Thordis led Finn away to strip off his mail and look at his ribs.

Left to herself, below us, Thorgunna held on to the prow planking to keep upright and stared at the swirling black water where we had loosed Kvasir to Ran's mercies.

'At least he has the best of offerings,' I said to her, 'for the enemy who killed him is now at his feet.'

She looked up, smiling radiantly, but I knew she could not see me through so many tears.

'There will always be a place for you at Hestreng,' I added, thinking to comfort her and she knuckled her eyes clear with a swift gesture.

'Ingrid has her feet so far under the high bench that I will never get my keys back, I suspect,' she answered, with a flash of the old fire that made me smile.

'We could be married. Then you would be mistress and no gainsay.'

I said it lightly, as a wry jest, but the words tumbled out of my heart and the rightness, the answer to what I would do now, fell in to replace them. I was so stunned by it that I was left blinking as stupidly as she.

Her mouth opened and closed, then she snorted. 'You can say that, after carrying on with that Aoife like you did?'

'That was then — besides, she is only a thrall.'

'Ah, so you had to hold up her bottom with both hands?'

'No — well, not entirely. .'

My tongue stumbled to a dry halt and I was not as sure of matters as I had been a moment ago.

'Rams rut quieter than you,' she declared softly.

I stifled a groan. My stomach churned. 'Such matters are expected of a jarl,' I managed.

'Such honour and duty from a raiding man, even one of account. Anyhow — my mother warned me. Never marry a raiding man, for his heart is in the wind.'

'Was she a sister to Red Njal's da's ma, I am wondering? Besides — the one time she was right and you did not listen and married Kvasir anyway.'

'So now you mire the good name of my mother? I should get Thordis and both of us will thrash you.'

'Is that the same Thordis who let Kvasir sneak in and away again in the morning?'

She smiled at the memory; we both did. I felt better — then those sheep-dropping eyes hardened and her chin came up.

'Do not you try and throw mud on my good name,' she growled. 'I never let him stay the night until we were proper wed. And I never will you, either.'

'As I recall, your sister and Ingrid begged Kvasir and me both, on bended knee to take you off their hands.'

'They did no such thing!'

Tickleface, they called you. Thor-fist, too.'

'Lies. They would not dare slander me. .'

'Did you really trap Ingrid in the privy? And left a dead rat in Thordis's bed-space once?'

'I will kill them both. .'

She stopped, caught my eye. The wind blew her hair away from her red-cheeked face, streaming it back and flattening the thick cloak against her prow-built shape. She saw me look her up and down and flushed.

'Too soon,' she said eventually, staring at the slow-shifting wake in the black water where Kvasir slowly turned and sank. 'But I thank you for the offer.'

I smiled. She smiled. I pulled her to me and she grunted a little, for I was hard in my nervousness — but she did not shove me away, all the same.

'Was Odin's gift worth it all, then?' she asked. I had no answer to that.

We left the crow-black river for the Dark Sea and Odin's gift became perfectly clear on the evening, weeks later, when we slid into an island bay to make camp for the night. Our minds were glass, where the breath of home misted clear thoughts and we all but missed the three ships arrowing out the dim. It was Onund, his great shoulder-hump made bigger where he hung from the prow, who yelled a warning.

They came sidling up, wary and circling like winter-thin wolves on a fat wether.

'Heya,' Hauk called out, while bows were unshipped and arrows nocked — we were well armed now. 'Who are you there?'

'Men from Thrond,' came the reply, floated faintly across the water. 'With three ships to your one and hard men packed in all of them.'

Thrond was far enough away in the north of Norway for me to realize that these were raiding for preference, though they would claim to be traders if challenged by stronger men. Now they thought they had a fat prize and I could not deny they were right. For all that, I sat with my chin in my hand and tried not to look concerned, which is hard when your knees are knocking.

'We are the Oathsworn of Orm Bear Slayer,' Hauk called out. 'We want no trouble, but will give it if we get it.'

There was a long pause and one boat started backing water at once. On the other two, it was clear that arguments had broken out. Eventually, a voice called out — more polite in tone, this time, I was thinking — that they would come closer to see if what we said was true.

'Come as close as you dare,' bawled Finn, annoyed, 'but Finn Horsehead warns you to keep beyond the length of my blade.'

They turned then, all three of them, and rowed furiously out of the bay, chased by our laughter. Later, I met one of those who had been on the main boat, a good man who came to Hestreng on a trade knarr selling leather and bone craft. He told me that they knew they had met their worst nightmare when they saw Orm Bear Slayer sitting, unconcerned by them and calm as a windless day, chin in hand and waiting patiently for the Oathsworn to serve supper.

I did not tell him I was sitting, stunned, for I had just realized Odin's gift.

Fame.

The one he gave to himself, for our fame was All-Father's fame. Men gave up their White Christ thoughts when they heard of us and what Odin had given us. As long as the Oathsworn stayed in memories, Odin could keep the White Christ at bay in one small part of the north, no matter that the blind-weaving Norns warped the line of