*
After a day’s sail up Hardanger Fjord, they hid the ships in the overhang of a cliff and waited for nightfall. Guthorm’s intelligence said that the seven coastal Hordaland kings met now to settle border disputes and discuss how to keep raiders from their shores. They would bring guards, but no armies. Guthorm’s force would have the advantage.
Guthorm sent scouts, fast-running young men, in a few directions to learn the local news and make sure the meeting was still to take place. After a morning of waiting with the ships, Ragnvald grew restless. He and Oddi asked for permission from Hakon to do some hunting and carry back any intelligence they might find. They climbed into the forest, where cliffs rose above the trees, until they came to a grove on the summit. The trees here were small and scrubby, anchored shallowly in the thin soil. With so little cover, the air was warm and dry. Flies buzzed around the sap that leaked out of the tree trunks.
They followed a deer path for a time over soft pine needles. The quiet focus, the single-minded purpose of hunting, soothed Ragnvald’s restlessness. Then, like a gift from the gods, a deer crossed in front of them, a young buck, fuzz still clinging to its antlers. Ragnvald’s arrow found its throat as it bent for a drink of water in a sunlit clearing. He and Oddi butchered it under the trees. They could not risk a fire, so instead they sat next to the carcass, eating the dried meat they had brought and drinking from a skin of ale that Oddi had been saving since Yrjar hall.
“You know, sometimes I’m not sure I like you very much,” said Oddi with a grin. “You are too lucky, and when you are not, you draw too much attention.” Ragnvald sucked in a breath. He valued Oddi for always saying what others thought, but it was sometimes uncomfortable. He took the ale skin from Oddi’s hand and pressed the opening carefully to his lips, trying not to spill any. It was warm and bitter, and warmed his blood too, turning the jangling of his nerves into anticipation of the night ahead. A night for battle and bloodshed. He licked his lips.
“Or rather, I thought to bring you to my father’s court as an ally, but now I’m worried I’ll be standing next to you when someone throws an ax at you,” said Oddi.
“Afraid I’ll duck?” Ragnvald asked, amused.
“You are fast,” said Oddi with a grin.
“I am your ally,” said Ragnvald more seriously. “I hope that one day that means more than it does now.”
“It does,” said Oddi. “Be careful, though. I counted Jarl Runolf as a friend too.” Jarl Runolf, whose blood had watered the dueling ground at the ting.
“Perhaps being your friend is dangerous,” said Ragnvald. He meant it as a joke, until the words left his lips.
“I cannot stay in my father’s court,” said Oddi, nodding. “I see that now. He has too many sons already.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have a friend, who will be a jarl in Ardal, and one day king of Sogn. He might need a man to lead his warrior hird, or train up his brood of sons.”
“Surely a king’s son can do better than that,” said Ragnvald, affection making him gruff. He and Oddi had been friends as boys, when Ragnvald’s father was alive, and had friends up and down the Norse coast. Visitors always came to Ardal, or Eystein took his son along with his favorite warriors and favorite women to visit other halls on short summer trips. Ragnvald had made friends more easily then as well, when he was too young to be suspicious, when Olaf was no more to him than one of Eystein’s quieter warriors.
Ragnvald passed the ale skin back toward Oddi, whose hands closed around it and then froze. Ragnvald looked up and saw what Oddi had seen: a small boy, dark hair tousled and face smudged, with eyes too large for his face. Choices warred in the boy’s eyes, but boldness got the better of him.
“This is my father’s land,” he said.
“Who is your father, then?” Oddi asked.
“Jarl Lingorm,” said the boy. “He is the king’s right-hand man.” Oddi glanced sharply at Ragnvald. Which king? Ragnvald wanted to ask, but did not. That would betray too much.
“Is he at home?” Ragnvald asked. “We want to meet him.” He smiled slightly. “And pay him for the deer we took.” Ragnvald’s expression seemed to heighten the boy’s suspicions; he drew back, shielding more of his body behind the tree in front of him. Clever lad.
“He’s at home,” the boy said, jutting his chin forward, far too defiant for his words to be truth. Ragnvald shook his head slightly, hoping Oddi would pick up the signal.
Whether Oddi did or not was of no matter, for the boy saw, sprang from his shelter behind the tree, and went darting into the forest. Ragnvald gave chase. The boy was sure of foot and smaller, and for a dozen steps, Ragnvald thought he might lose him, until the boy started to tire, and Ragnvald’s fingers brushed the fabric of his tunic. Ragnvald put on another burst of speed. As he came alongside the boy, he scooped him up under one arm. The boy let out a yell. Ragnvald put his other hand over the boy’s mouth and nose. Better the boy pass out than carry on making noise.
He licked Ragnvald’s hand and then, when Ragnvald pinched his nostrils shut, bit it deeply enough to draw blood. Ragnvald cursed him under his breath and swung the boy’s head into a tree, with enough force to stun him. He returned to where Oddi still sat with the deer carcass, and flung the boy down onto the ground.
“Scream and I’ll cut your throat,” he said. The boy looked back at him. Some rebelliousness still shone in his eyes, but he was cowed enough not to try to call for help again.
“I’ve no stomach for killing him. But I don’t want him running back to warn his family,” said Ragnvald in a low voice, without taking his eyes from the boy. Oddi made a noise of assent. “If things go ill, a hostage might be useful.” He took some of the leather rope from the deer and used it to tie the boy’s wrists. The rag he had been using to mop his sweat did well as a gag. Then he hoisted some deer meat onto his shoulder and took the boy’s arm in his other hand. “March,” he said.
He had to free the boy’s hands to get him down the cliff, back to the ships. Between them, the boy stumbled, rebelliously, and more than once Ragnvald had to grab him to keep him from going over the edge. Might as well let him fall, an ignoble part of him whispered.