The most alert men tied up the sail, and the six strongest went to their oar ports. They might lose the oars tonight, but without the sail, they would be needed to provide power to turn the ship into the swells.
Grim ordered everything tied down, skins lashed over anything that could be covered. He stationed men with buckets to bail at the center of the ship. Ragnvald put himself near Grim to help shout his orders if needed. Then the storm struck with all its fury, lightning crashing around them, soaking rain driving against the ship, forcing water through oiled leather jackets, through the lapped seams of the ship itself. Ragnvald could hardly see the other ships, which was a mercy; they must keep far enough away to avoid crashing into one another in the chaos. And this night, at least, they had a place to meet: the headland that Grim had indicated.
Ragnvald bailed until his arms felt boneless, then handed off his bucket to another man. He almost dozed, clinging to the gunwale so he would not be washed overboard—the noise of waves and rain combined to isolate him in a sort of silence—until someone shook his shoulder and handed him the bucket again.
He did not know how many times he repeated that cycle before dawn came, gray and dreary, with a lessening of wind and shrinking of swells. He felt numb and wrung out. The men around him had blue lips, and those who were not shivering wore a dullness in their eyes that said they had passed through shivering to the dangerous shores beyond. This ship had survived, but Ragnvald did not know if the others had.
He would not learn that until that afternoon, when Grim sighted the headland. Sometime after the sun passed its zenith, the clouds lifted, and streams of light poured forth underneath them. Ragnvald turned to see a line of Hakon’s ships, Heming’s ships, his ships, stretched out behind them. He nearly cried with relief. He said another blessing to Ran. She deserved that chest of gold, animals, human lives, everything she wanted. But not his own life, not yet.
*
The ships beached in a hidden cove near Grim’s headland in the afternoon. Some men napped or rested during the day. Ragnvald set those who were still wakeful that night to hide the ships as best they could, covering them with grasses or hauling them up inlets, in aimless tidal rivers between higher hills. Grim ordered the masts stepped down.
Ragnvald sent runners to the watch points to keep a lookout. He followed Arnfast over the crest of the headland, through scrubby brush and low trees, to the place where they should see Solvi’s ships coming. If they came. Ragnvald had already resolved to wait no more than a full day and night. If Solvi was not spotted, they had missed him, and would be too late. He planned to push Heming onto Vestfold no matter what, if he could, but Heming might recover his good sense and push back.
Arnfast was nineteen—older, Ragnvald reminded himself, than his king Harald, and only a year younger than Ragnvald himself. He looked a teenage boy still, though, skinny and ungainly, with nothing to recommend himself except a fleet step and eagle eyes. He waited for Ragnvald to catch up with him at the best vantage point of the crest, overlooking one of the inner channels. Ice clung to the high places here, above the smooth running water. From this spot he could even see a further channel inland, in case Solvi’s ships emerged from there.
Arnfast crouched on his heels for a few minutes, watching with Ragnvald, then stood up again. He was too restless to remain still. “I must see . . .”
Ragnvald did not know where he meant to go, but they might as well watch from different vantages. He nodded his permission, and sat to wait. Here on the crest of the hill, the wind blew fierce, a wet spring gale that chilled as quickly as a winter storm. He rubbed his hands together, then walked aimlessly around the flat top here, stamping his feet.
To pass the time, he began climbing down the steep slope on the inner passage. He might get a better view up the channel, and concentrating on his footing made it easier to forget how cold he was, how much was riding on the slim chance that they had overtaken Solvi’s men and might continue to follow them without being observed.
Solvi’s fleet was too big for stealth. Ragnvald’s breath caught in his throat when they came around the bend. He had added more allies since Agi saw him leaving Tafjord. Here were more than twenty ships. Their multicolored sails shone bright against the gray of cliff and sky. Ragnvald wanted to leap up and run back to his camp, to tell them the news.
He ran for a few steps before it occurred to him that his lead ship must follow Solvi’s rearmost one, and he would have to know which one that was. He had not discussed this with Grim, yet it must be so. So he sat to wait while the endless stream of ships passed single file through the channel. Was Svanhild among them, or had Solvi left her behind, somewhere safe and well guarded? He worried that Solvi might have divided his force. The last ship could be a day or more behind. Ragnvald meant to spring a trap, and might be closed in it instead.
At length, after his hands and feet had grown numb from standing still with his arms hugged tight around his ribs, a gap opened up between ships. The last ship was narrow, a dragon ship that earned the name, with a vast sail, nearly as wide as the ship was long. It was striped blue and yellow, with dyes so costly Ragnvald could hardly imagine spending them on a sail’s colors. The rearguard must be an important man. He would not likely be followed by a lesser ship, with a plain-dyed sail. Solvi had gathered wealthy allies. After Ragnvald watched for a few more minutes to assure himself he was right about that, he finally retraced his steps back to the camp.
He still feared that Solvi would come around to find a place to camp and stumble into his force. He told Oddi, Grim, and Heming what he had seen, which ship he thought to be the last.
“No fires tonight,” he ordered. “If men are cold, they should share sleeping bags, or stay awake.” The men grumbled, but quietly.
“They will do it,” said Oddi. “All have heard of how you placated Ran.”
Ragnvald waved his hand. “I fear she will have me someday,” he said. “But not until I am a wealthier catch.”
“All the same, these men will do as you ask. That was well done,” said Oddi. Ragnvald was grateful for it, if this was the right path, and grateful too that Oddi had resigned himself to this path. Ragnvald feared too much had gone right, that the gods owed him some ill luck for all this good. He was working on Harald’s behalf, though. Harald was their beloved.
He passed a chilly night himself, under blankets with Oddi, sharing as they had done in Hordaland for warmth and companionship. He startled himself out of sleep every few minutes, worrying that he had overslept and Solvi’s force had passed too far ahead of them.
When he consulted with Grim the next morning, though, he realized that their biggest worry would be staying far enough behind Solvi. He was bound for Vestfold, and so were they.