Ragnvald inclined his head. “As you say. I would sleep now.”
Heming did not answer, only glowered as Ragnvald turned to find the tent that he had set up to share with Oddi. Ragnvald woke when Oddi came in later in the night and could not fall asleep again, spending the night instead turning over the words he had spoken to Heming. He had grown proud of his ability to sway Hakon with advice and clever observations, but he had nothing of the same to offer Heming. If only Heming would see that doing well in Harald’s war would earn a measure of his father’s trust and admiration, he might hate Ragnvald a little less.
*
The next morning the combined armies pressed on. Guthorm’s goal was the great fort of King Eirik in the Hordaland uplands, but as they marched overland, up into the hills, the scouts heard news of Gudbrand.
For a few days the army chased rumors across the fields and forest. They marched south, then heard that King Gudbrand’s army was moving inland. The vast company could not find enough food. Deer and other game feared such a large group of humans and fled far before them. The men had emptied the first few farms, to much wailing of women and complaining from the farms’ owners, until Guthorm put a stop to the raiding. Now they went hungry save what the men could trap overnight.
Hakon and Guthorm met, and Hakon determined to take his force back to the fjordlands, to protect the land that they had already conquered. Ragnvald could see that this did not please Guthorm, but Hakon had reason and a hungry army on his side this time.
Finally Guthorm decided that it was not a good use of their resources to continue this pursuit, and they tracked east to King Eirik’s fort. Ragnvald had heard this fort sung of—the story went that before the gods drove the frost giants into the mountains, the giants had built it, their mighty hands, as hard as stone, carving out the earthwork ramps and ditches. It dominated a broad upland plain near the foothills of the Keel. Seeing the high-piled earth, the deep trenches reinforced with spikes, Ragnvald could well believe that giants had a hand in it. If those within were well provisioned and had enough men to guard the walls, it could withstand a long siege.
He was glad Guthorm had decided on some object, no matter what it was, for it meant a few days without marching. The bite wound the boy had given Ragnvald’s hand was not healing well. He examined it each morning and found the edges hot and suppurating, refusing to heal together. He washed it and covered the wound with cobwebs before wrapping a clean cloth around it, as he had been taught, yet it only hurt more and more each day.
Harald’s army camped in a grove out of bowshot of the fort, while Harald took Thorbrand, Ragnvald, Heming, and Oddi, as well as a few other captains, to scout around the fort and look for weaknesses. Their arrival had not escaped notice. Great wooden doors barred each of the four entrances. Guards patrolled the tops of the earthwork ridges.
“My uncle tells me it is double-walled, so that if an army makes it through the first wall, they can be slaughtered in the gulf between,” said Harald. The idea chilled Ragnvald’s blood, to be trapped there with death on all sides. “I must ask him how he means for us to take it.”
On the way back to the camp, Ragnvald fell behind with Oddi, out of earshot of Harald.
“It would be faster for his uncle simply to lead these men,” Ragnvald said. “It is foolish to pretend this boy can do more than stand up and make pretty speeches.” He was weary from the marching, from the pain in his hand, and from the haste with which the army moved.
“He is young,” said Oddi. “But I feel he will grow into a great king. His mother is a great sorceress, and she prophesied it. Would you prefer it if he made foolish decisions himself, rather than following his uncle’s counsel?”
“I would prefer it if I thought he was more than a particularly well trained dancing bear,” said Ragnvald. He did not know why Harald irritated him so much, except that he shone so bright, and had every advantage of strength and birth, yet these advantages seemed hollow. True, his skill with weapons, even at such a young age, had never been matched. He might make a worthy hero, but a hero needed different skills than a king. Some of Ragnvald’s dislike must come from envy—he knew himself enough to admit that. Harald had lost his father and now had an uncle who acted as a father to him—more than a father. Hakon was pleased to play father to his sons and men like Ragnvald, only as long as they could help him and did not outshine him. Harald had no brothers to compete with, and no sisters to worry over either.
“Bear, do you think?” Oddi asked, pulling Ragnvald out of his thoughts. “He puts me more in mind of a well-fed wolf. Be careful, Ragnvald.”
Ragnvald hurried to catch up with Harald’s long, loping strides. As soon as they returned to Guthorm’s tent, Harald said to his uncle, “It is indeed a mighty fort. How will we take it?”
“We hear they are not well provisioned,” said Guthorm. “We will lay siege for a few days, and ask for terms. If that does not work, we will fill in a section of the ditch, at night, so there will be less risk of arrow shot. Then rush the wall at that place. Some will die going over it, but most will not, and Eirik will not be able to keep us out.”
“I will go over,” said Thorbrand. “What of the inner wall?” Ragnvald was glad Thorbrand had asked, so he need not.
“We must bring planks to bridge the inner ditch,” said Guthorm. “And make sure not to block our retreat. Perhaps some swifter attacks at first, to confirm how things lie. We do not know enough about how they set their guards.”
It seemed the beginnings of a good plan, though Ragnvald did not know how Guthorm could be certain they were not well provisioned. He would like to try to lure one of the guards away from his post and question the man, but he did not think his suggestion would be welcome, not after Guthorm’s anger at him over the matter of the boy—the boy who punished him even now.
Ragnvald sat that night with Heming at dinner. Heming was never happy without an audience, so he had made friends with some of Harald’s finer warriors, the sons of rich raiders, men who knew enough to appreciate Heming’s graces but could not outshine them.
“How are you getting on with King Harald?” Ragnvald asked him. They dined on deer that Dagvith, one of Ragnvald’s tablemates from Yrjar, had taken in the afternoon.
“He is, as you say, a boy,” said Heming. Ragnvald immediately wanted to defend Harald, though he agreed with Heming. Heming did not bring out the best in Ragnvald, either. He must master the annoyance that festered from his hand into his heart, or he would become unwelcome at every hearth.
“And?” said Ragnvald. “Your father wishes you to be his companion.” He hoped Hakon would rejoin them soon.