Robert Low - The Whale Road

Einar's assured calm had gone, replaced by a morose nervous energy, where he stroked his moustaches feverishly and gave every sign that his luck had deserted him.

Then the chosen sixty had struck off north and west, following the signs Bagnose and Steinthor, those two tracker hounds, were leaving as they followed the spoor of Vigfus and his crew to the mysterious howe of the Sea Storm.

And I had gone with them, despite Einar and Illugi and everyone else's misgivings over my strapped-up ankle and the limp I'd had before we'd even started.

But I was determined and Einar didn't put up too much resistance to it. I caught Gunnar Raudi's eye as we started out across the steppe and remembered his words to me, his warnings. Einar, I thought, would be pleased to have me founder on the plains outside Kiev, where he could find a good, sensible excuse to leave me for dead.

The prospect was another good argument for staying behind, but I was more afraid of looking afraid than anything else. That fair-fame trap was closing like steel teeth—I was the Bear Slayer, after all, the young Baldur. I had to go to the howe of the Sea Storm.

`What the hell is the Sea Storm?' Einar had demanded of Illugi Godi, after sending men flying on errands everywhere and gathering gear for the pursuit. He added, in a muttered afterthought. 'What is she doing?'

Ìt is no secret in these parts. Dengizik, the Sea Storm, was a Hun lord,' Illugi corrected. 'They know his name round here. They say he was Atil's son.'

Einar's head came up and he and Illugi looked at each other, exchanging the gods knew what in their glances.

`Perhaps there is a clue there to Atil's hoard,' I offered. 'Maybe that is Atil's hoard and she is leading them to it.'

Einar swung his glare at me, pure black ice, and I felt the weight of it. I should have stopped then, but somehow could not, as children do when they start in on horse-goading for the first time. A savagery comes on them then that those who know watch for, dragging the offenders away and cuffing them round the head.

Ì think not,' Illugi offered pensively. 'This Hun tomb is one everyone knows and almost certainly has been raided already. Atil's hoard, it is well known, is hidden.'

`Just so,' I said, testing the ankle now that I had slung all my gear on. `So well hidden that a madwoman knows how to find it.'

Einar stayed silent, busying himself with his own gear, but Illugi frowned at me as a signal to stop, but I was dancing on the fire-mountain edge now, fearless and capering.

`Hard to say who is more touched,' I went on, not looking at anyone. 'Her with her rolling eyes and shakes and sure wisdom that she knows where these riches are hid, or all of us for following blindly after.'

Then I gazed straight at Einar and said, 'Maybe she is your doom. Sent by Odin, who does not like oath-breakers . . .'

I got no further, for his hand was on my throat and his black eyes so close to mine I could feel the lashes on my cheeks. I could not breathe, dare not move.

`You have not been with us long, Rurik's son, but already I am regretting being so indulgent for your father's sake.'

His grip tightened and I felt my eyes bulge like a frog's.

Èinar,' said Illugi warningly and even through the roaring in my ears I heard the anxious sound in his voice. The steel fingers closed a little harder.

Àn exchange of views?' enquired a new voice, barely heard through the thunder in my head. 'Or are you offering a kiss of peace, as the Christ-men do when they promise friendship?'

The fingers relaxed a little and Einar's voice was booming, even though he spoke in the softest of growls:

'This is no matter for you, Gunnar Raudi.'

I tried to look for him, but Einar's eyes were locked on mine still, great tunnels, like the entrances to dwarven caves.

Ì shall not speak on it, then,' said Gunnar easily. 'I have another who will do that.'

The soft sucking sound of a blade from a sheath was echoed by Illugi's indrawn breath. 'Hold this,' he declared, deep and stern and I knew, without seeing, that he had his staff up. 'Gunnar, put peace-strings back on that. Einar, let the boy go. There is nothing but doom in this for all.'

The release, when it came, was sudden enough to make me fall to the ground, Coughing, my throat thundering with pain and every breath in it a rasp with thorns. When I could finally look up and take Illugi's offered wrist, I found my legs shook.

Gunnar Raudi, his snow-in-bracken hair tied back with a leather thong, stood easily, casually, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Einar, his lips like a scar, stood opposite him, the black cloak of hair framing a face pale as a winter moon.

Illugi stepped forward between them, as if to sever some unseen rope that seemed to be leaning them towards one another.

`This Hun lord,' he went on, as if nothing had interrupted the conversation, 'was the Great City's enemy, so it is believed. He fought them in his time and was slain for it by a general called Anagestes. He was brought back to the steppe lands to be howed up.'

The tension, like a sail emptied of wind, flapped once and was gone. Einar grunted, stuffed gear into a leather bag and looped it over one shoulder. His shield went over the other. No one was taking mail, despite the threats: the heat was too great for that.

`Well, one thing is certain,' Einar said, offering a grin free of any mirth. 'Our Hild is leading him a little dance out on to the steppe.'

Our Hild. Like she was his sister. I watched him combing his hair to try to rid it of the worst of the nits, then tie it back with a leather thong against the heat. My own crawled with lice, but I would not shave it, as others did, since that was the mark of a thrall and I could not bring myself to go so far, sensible or not.

Einar shouldered past Gunnar Raudi and I swear I saw the hair on them rise, like the hackles on wolves, as they brushed against each other. My throat ached and I knew that there would be the mark of five livid bruises on it.

Our Hild . She was no more 'our Hild' than I could fart gold, but Einar clearly thought she was one of the Oathsworn, whether she had sworn or no. He did not, for an eyeblink, imagine that Hild could be playing him false and Vigfus was on the correct track, which was my thought on the matter at the time. Wrong, of course.

Illugi Godi looked once at Gunnar Raudi, then at me and shook his head. 'You are fools, the one for his loose gob, the other for getting into a pissing contest with the likes of Einar.'

Ìf you don't want to get your toes wet,' answered Gunnar Raudi with a chuckle, levering himself off the doorpost, 'then keep your shoes away from my pisser.'

Illugi raised a defiant chin and his staff, the mark of his rank, but Gunnar merely grinned at him and swaggered off.

Àsgard seems a little deaf to you these days, Odin priest,' he threw back over his shoulder as he went—

and I saw Illugi flinch, his head drooping for the first time that day.

There was no hint of any of that now as Einar took a knee, sweat-gleamed and grinning, to face the lolling-tongued dog-men he had led into the Grass Sea.

`We must be close,' he called out, glancing at the sun as it started to die, slow and glorious on the edge of the world. 'Tomorrow we'll be on them and get our Hild back.'

The men growled appreciative responses, muted and weary in the heat.

Einar climbed slowly to his feet and hefted his shield and gear to more comfortable spots. 'For now,' he grinned, 'we move.'

Òur Hild,' I muttered morosely as I got up and Illugi, passing, heard it and cocked his head quizzically.

Òur Hild,' I repeated. 'She has suffered nothing but hard knocks from us. He even took away the one thing she had, that bloody spear-shaft. And yet he imagines she is "our Hild".'