Hadding wove his way. The ship was not broached, she did not strike. The bottom here must slope slowly, for the surf that elsewhere pounded the land broke well offshore and was low. As Hadding steered through the smother of it he took no worse than a drenching. Nor was this a stony ground. Only sand grated when he drew to a stop.
The man waded out. Hadding came forward to give him a hand up. “That was well done,” the man said. His voice was as deep as the sea’s.
Hadding looked into his one, eye. “We have met before,” he answered. “I knew you at once.”
“You shall not be sorry,” said the man after man.
The crew stared silent Shaken and bewildered though they were, every warrior rose to his feet. The newcomer was very tall. Somehow, in this wind, he kept a broad hat on his gray locks. It overshadowed a lean face from which a long gray beard fell over the cloak he had donned again. He seemed to have no weapon except a spear.
“This is Gangleri,” Hadding told them. “I owe him much from aforetime.”
“Best you rejoin your fleet,” Gangleri said.
“Indeed.” Hadding gave orders. Men snapped to them, sprang overboard and shoved the ship off, climbed back when she was afloat, and set to the oars. It was harder work than coming in, but they were happier doing it.
Already the wind was lower. When Hadding reached his folk he found the seas running easier. The wind shifted. Soon he could cry, “It’s fair for our course. Up masts and sails, in oars, and out ale casks!”
“Does he bring luck, him Gangleri?” muttered Gunnar.
“When he chooses to, I think,” said Ax-Egil as softly.
“How did he happen to be on yon strand right when we passed by?”
“It didn’t merely happen, I’m sure. But let’s speak no more of this.”
Still, the mood aboard Firedrake became, if not altogether merry, hopeful. It spread to the rest of the crews. Hadding bore speedily north.
As the voyage went on, men saw Gangleri eat and drink, sitting on a bench, as a king might eat and drink in his high seat. They never saw him drop his breeks, nor did they see him sleep. They wondered, but not aloud. Few got more than a word or two with him, aside from Hadding. The pair of them were most of the time alone in the forepeak.
Now and then others overheard them. Though strange, the words were heartening rather than daunting. Gangleri was giving Hadding redes about war.
“You are bound against a bigger host than your own,” he said. “Most are poorly armed, but a stone-headed ax or spear, a bone harpoon, or a wooden club deals the same death as iron. Moreover, their bowmen are as good as any Dane, and their slingers are better. Hardly any of them have byrnies, but few of your yeomen do either. Although Bjarmians have seldom fought in great numbers, these have had Swedes to teach them something of it, who will lead and stiffen them. They are hunters of bear and whale. They have their blood feuds and clashes between tribes. Far from home with nowhere to flee to, they will fight like trapped wildcats. Their warlocks will egg them on and cast spells to strike fear in your men. You, have no light task. Well can you leave your bones in the high north.”
“Your wish may be otherwise,” answered Hadding slowly.
“I do have things to tell you. Hitherto hosts like yours have had no true shape. Men try to stay near the banners of their chieftains and shoulder to shoulder with their friends. If set on from all sides, they make a shield wall and stand in a ring as best they can. Once that is broken, the foe reaps them piecemeal. Otherwise both troops go forward with no better plan than to come to grips. A battle is hardly more than a huge brawl. Nobody knows what is happening beyond his arm’s length. Anything may spark fear, it will spread like wildfire, men will cast their weapons from them and run as blindly as chickens, the foe will come after them like weasels, and so the battle is lost.”
Hadding nodded. His face went bleak. He knew this all too well.
“Now I will tell you what is better,” said the old one, “and if you think about it you will see that it is.”
“I know already that it is—coming from you,” whispered the king.
They spoke much together as the ships sailed on.
With the wind holding fair, Hadding reached the fjord of the Niderings as soon as he had hoped. But he could not go in, greet Haakon, and raise more warriors to help. Even as the remembered landmarks hove in sight, over the northern searim came a fleet outnumbering his. Those who had spied it earlier now told their fellows, who howled. Here were the Swedes and Bjarmians.
“How have they moved so fast?” wondered Svein. “The winds that bore us along were against them.”
“That need not be,” said Egil starkly. “I’ve heard tell of how Finn-wizards hold sway over the weather.”
Svein cast a glance at the graybeard with hat and cloak who stood silent astern. “I think we have one such ourselves.” He shivered.
“This, then, is where we’ll meet them,” called Hadding, the length of the hull and across the water. “Make ready!”
He steered for the island of Hitra, which lay with others near the mouth of the fjord. Long, low, and green, it offered safe strands for landing and meadows for fighting. The only dwellers he saw were a pair of cowherd children, who made haste to drive their kine into the background woods.
One by one
