THE LIMFJORD
It is good for a man that he bears the yoke in his youth.
—THE BIBLE, LAMENTATIONS 3:27
The surface of the grey sea had no breaking waves, seafoam, or iridescence, but the swell seemed to heave as if strange life-forms twisted and turned beneath the surface. Huddled in coarse blankets, the four young captives looked to port and starboard ahead of them and saw the midnight-blue of land that lay like smudges of dark paint.
“Land!” Arthur breathed quietly, his heart in his mouth in the excitement of making landfall. Their fate hung in the balance and they would probably be enslaved once they arrived at Stormbringer’s destination, but the companions were young and they had never traveled beyond the shores of Britain. Even the persistent ache of cold winds and colder brine failed to dull their high animal spirits.
“Captain!” Arthur called out to Stormbringer, who was standing with arms akimbo beside the helmsman. “What land lies to either side of us? Where are we?”
Stormbringer shook his leonine head with amusement.
“You Britons always speak with long lists of questions. If curiosity was valued in gold, you’d be the richest people in our world.”
Then, with limber grace, he descended from his perch to face the four bedraggled young captives on the bare deck. They were full of questions, but Stormbringer was too busy to assuage their curiosity. So, to keep themselves occupied, they had eaten cold stew and had learned to chew their rations of raw fish while staring at the land beyond the grey sea and trying their best to keep warm. As a captive on this strange ship, Arthur began to feel like a true slave, for he was ignorant of their destination or where they were. His lack of knowledge and the enforced inactivity fed his growing temper.
Once land had been sighted, Stormbringer reverted to his role as a barbarian captain returning to his homeland, almost as if he feared to become too close to the Britons and the fate that awaited them. Arthur was alarmed, and this made him angry—both at himself and at Stormbringer.
“We aren’t the ones who chose to sail across deep waters for weeks on end in order to find a strange landfall, yet you call us overcurious,” Arthur had responded. Stormbringer took offense at the younger man’s bad-tempered jest. This young Briton sometimes forgot who was captor and who was captive.
“You’re a fractious and arrogant young man, Master Dragonsen. I understand from your high-handedness that you have an inflated opinion of your importance and believe yourself to be the equal of any Dene. But you aren’t a prince in our lands! Do you understand your position, boy? Your immediate future depends on the decisions my king makes when you appear before him, so you may become a slave and you’ll have no status whatsoever among the Dene people.”
The captain’s gaze was direct and confronting, so they stared at each other like two fighting dogs as they measured each other’s strengths and searched for weaknesses that could be exploited. Eventually, Blaise stamped her foot forcefully on Arthur’s instep because she knew it was the only way to force him to retreat from an unwinnable position. He yelped, his concentration was broken, and sanity began to prevail.
He immediately got the point.
“I’m sorry if my manners and opinions have offended you, Captain, but no insult was intended,” Arthur said stiffly. As apologies went, Arthur’s response was grudging, but Stormbringer was a true leader of men, and he knew what this halfhearted admission of regret had cost the young man. The captain felt a little foolish for taking offense at the immature attitudes of a stripling who was far younger than his size and martial skills suggested.
The Dene took a deep, steadying breath. “To answer your questions, young man, the land to the north is Agder, part of the kingdom of Noroway. The land to the south was once called Jutland, or the land of the Jutes. But it’s now the Mark of the Dene. We are about to experience those treacherous waters of the straits which are known as the Skagerrak.”
The word, Skagerrak, rose over the muted slapping sounds of the ship and the sea with a rasping noise that promised no good. Every syllable of the name was threatening.
“The skeletons of many men lie beneath our keel, and their bones bleach in the ribs of the many ships that litter the ocean’s floor. How many warriors have died here is impossible for a man like me to ascertain, but the dead are a vast throng trapped in the lightless undersea. We Dene have learned to understand the waters that surround us. She is our mother now, even if some of the Dene tribes believe that the Ice Dragons were our first fathers, mothers, and gods! We know we can never take the sea for granted, young man, even if she provides us with fish that fill our bellies and allows us to travel along her invisible roads to new vistas and wealth.”
Arthur tried not to be overawed by Stormbringer’s passion for the sea and the heritage of his people. Belatedly, Arthur was grasping what Taliesin, Lorcan, and Germanus had tried to teach him: that barbarians have souls too, and only a fool could believe them to be blights on the earth.
“Look to the north,” the Dene said, and Arthur followed the direction of Stormbringer’s pointing hand. “Can you see the current in that area that’s closest to the shoreline? In the Skagerrak the sea moves at great speed, and many whirlpools are formed within the fjords. They’ve been known to drag a ship down if the captain isn’t careful. The current runs close to the northern shore and the teeth of stone that lie in wait there. But we’ll be safe, if we can stay in the southern waters where the seas are relatively calm.”
Arthur couldn’t understand how one body of water could be divided into two very different stretches of sea, but he was prepared to believe the evidence of his own eyes. The wild current in the Skagerrak seemed to be moving at a greater pace than the waters under Loki’s Eye, and this stretch of sea was darker in appearance than the grey-green flood beneath the hull of the ship. The leaden waves were more ominous than the white, swirling swells that indicated turbulent whirlpools; against his will, Arthur shivered with a sudden, visceral cold.
“Where do we go from here, Master Stormbringer?” Eamonn asked. He was standing so he could gain a better view of the natural phenomena of the channels. Arthur noticed that his friend’s lips were blue.
“You’re a man of few words, Dumnonii! We’ll sail through the straits and then turn to a southerly heading, which will take us into the Kattegat. This stretches from the northeastern tip of the Dene Mark to the land we call Skania. The sea here is much like the water in a large pot. If you stir the liquid forcefully with a wooden spoon, it will spill over in the same way as the Kattegat does.”
“So it’s dangerous,” Blaise added cautiously, and Stormbringer looked uncomfortable. Arthur noted a flash of irritation in the captain’s expression that a mere woman should address him directly. And Stormbringer knew that Arthur had seen this momentary lapse. Like most Celt aristocrats, Arthur respected those women who were his kin.
“The Kattegat is a cauldron of strange currents and deceptive winds, and it’s always difficult to traverse,” Stormbringer continued. “Some of the more superstitious of our seamen believe that a sea monster lies under the surface of the waves and that this beast waits for unwary ships’ crews to sail within its reach.”
Arthur recalled the she-dragon who still dominated his sleep patterns. In his dreams, her elegant, turquoise tail would stir the ocean, just like the turgid and deceptive waters that Loki’s Eye was trying so hard to avoid.
The captain explained that he would turn Loki’s Eye away from the Kattegat and its cruel history. “While I don’t subscribe to the sailors’ beliefs about these waters, I’m not a fool, so I’ll always follow the safest course when I’m traveling through dangerous seas.”
Stormbringer dismissed superstition with an airy wave of one hand.
Given the superstition inherent in his own dreams, Arthur immediately felt like a complete fool, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Until better options present themselves, we’ll avoid the Kattegat and sail due east before entering the deep channel of water called the Limfjord,” Stormbringer continued. “A fjord is a narrow passage of water that separates two areas of land with high cliffs on both sides.”
Blaise was far from satisfied with this description, but she accepted it. She’d see a fjord soon enough if their voyage was fated to proceed to their final destination.
“Where does the Limfjord end, and what does it mean for us?” Eamonn asked slowly.
“The waters of the Limfjord flow across the width of Jutland from an inland lake to both coasts, but we’ll be entering the fjord on the east coast—over there!” Stormbringer indicated a point on the eastern side of the peninsula that was sliding towards them. “The Limfjord effectively cuts Jutland in two.”
Stormbringer’s color was high, and Arthur noticed that the Dene was avoiding Maeve’s eyes. Possessiveness flashed across the Briton’s mind like a streak of Greek fire.
“Are you saying that we’ll sail through two dangerous bodies of water and enter a narrow fjord, when we could have saved days of travel and avoided considerable danger by simply sailing across the peninsula from the western coast?” Arthur snapped out each word like a mantrap closing on flesh. “It seems a strange strategy to a landsman who is ignorant of your world.”
Arthur felt a weird triumph, as if he had caught Stormbringer out in a basic navigational error.
Blaise kicked him hard on the back of his calf, so Arthur knew he was being childish. The man had been decent to them, far more than was necessary. But, like two fighting tomcats, both men were circling each other as they searched for weaknesses.
“No, the western entry to the Limfjord is barred by shoals of shifting sand,” Stormbringer snapped back. “Loki’s Eye is an oceangoing vessel with a deep draft. Can you understand that, Briton? This ship isn’t suited to any part of the waters that lead into the Limfjord from the west, so we’d run aground in hundreds of places if we followed the path that you suggest. Common sense tells us to travel by the longer route around the tip of Jutland so that we enter the fjord from the east where the water is deep for the entire journey.”
“Loki’s Eye!” Maeve interrupted. She had been silent for most of the exchange, but now she climbed gracefully to her feet and leaned on the beautifully smoothed wood of the ship’s rail where adze marks from its construction gave it a simple grace and beauty. The hands of many seamen and the oil from their skins had polished the wood to the smooth beauty of old honey.
“Yes, the ship is named after the trickster god.” Stormbringer’s voice was cool and polite, although everyone but Arthur could tell that the Dene was furiously angry. “I once believed that challenging the sea in a frail ship was a joke worthy of Loki. I was foolish to challenge the god, but as I matured, I regretted my challenge to the gods and paid red gold and rings of silver to Loki as a penance for my stupidity.”
“Thank you, Captain. You’ve been very candid with us,” Maeve said, smiling at the Dene, whose face immediately softened. “As captives, we could have expected to be chained, starved, and beaten. Instead, you’ve treated us with courtesy and kindness, so you must forgive our endless, irritating questions.” Maeve’s smile was ingenuous and frank, but Arthur knew that his sister was as manipulative as a cave spider—and just as patient. She toyed with Stormbringer in a flash of white teeth and innocence that completely disarmed him.
She’ll soon have him eating out of her palm, Arthur thought. He was unable to fathom why he resented Maeve’s success with Stormbringer, but when she smiled at the Dene and flattered him, something hot and angry coiled in Arthur’s breast. Maeve was barely twelve, but she was speaking and acting like a woman twice her age. Her green eyes impaled Stormbringer and the captain blushed hotly, then moved back to his position beside the helmsman.
She’s rattled him, Arthur thought with suppressed amusement, but he followed his sister’s movements with eyes that were suddenly careful. What is she up to? And when did she learn so much about men?
• • •
ARTHUR AND EAMONN were expected to relieve tired warriors on the oars, so the last part of the journey was divided between short periods of fierce physical exertion followed by longer stretches of intense boredom. Maeve had discovered a needle and some coarse thread in the small satchel that she had slung over her upper body when they were first captured. Since childhood, Maeve had always tried to carry her entire world with her whenever she traveled.
Some people are only content when, like turtles, their personal possessions are around them, no matter where they happen to be. A visit to her kinfolk in Viroconium had been the cause for a flood of quiet tears when five-year-old Maeve refused to travel unless she carried everything she owned on her person. The most casual of afternoon rides while she accompanied her mother on visits to sick crofters resulted in terrible inner conflicts because Maeve was torn over which of her favorite toys should also undertake the journey.
And so her mother had spent an entire winter weaving, curing, and sewing a satchel of soft rabbit fur for her strange little daughter to take on their travels. There Maeve could keep all her small necessities of life. Now, on the verge of adulthood, the young woman still refused to stir from home without it. The only things that had changed over the years were the contents.
Despite their fingers being blue with cold, Maeve and Blaise forced themselves to mend their clothing so that the quartet of captives could present themselves as respectably as possible to the court of the Dene king. As members of the aristocracy, they represented Britain, and the girls were determined that they would make a brave showing.
With grudging protests, Eamonn and Arthur handed over their damaged items of clothing, although this concession left them to shiver in the cold, grey winds. Both men stripped to the waist and bundled themselves in their cloaks for warmth. Meanwhile, they were instructed to clean and polish the bronze plates on their studded jackets and put a shine on every piece of leather or metal that made up their dress. Above them, Stormbringer watched the youngsters with cynical amusement as they squabbled over their appearance.
On one of the planks normally used by the rowers, the four young people were able to watch the shoreline that passed on both sides of the vessel. The waters closest to the high cliffs of Noroway had a deep grey-green tinge in the occasional sunlight that indicated unfathomable depths. The Britons had already adjusted to the short northern days, so any snatches of sunlight and the resultant pretense of warmth were treasured. The Skagerrak was rumored by some Dene to be a deep trench dug by sea monsters that gave the beasts an entrance into Udgaad, but the more pragmatic tribesmen believed that these superstitions were nonsense. No Sae Dene had ever actually seen a sea monster, Stormbringer explained, and these intrepid masters of the sea were so important to the larger population that they were permitted to have their own king, a nobleman held to be secondary only to the High King who ruled the entire nation.
Stormbringer pointed out details of his land and culture with a strong sense of pride. The young Britons were accustomed to a society where tribal kings were subservient to a Dux Bellorum, or battle king, so the concept of a sea king seemed logical in a landscape where water was so important. For the first time, Arthur watched his captor with more careful eyes. What type of man would be entrusted with such an important mission by the High King of the Dene. Could Stormbringer be a Sae Dene lord?
No, Arthur decided. If Stormbringer was such an important personage, I’d be dead by now—killed for my impertinence!
Out of concern for the sea monsters or the treacherous currents, the superstitious helmsman steered Loki’s Eye as close as possible to the coast of the land that had been known as Jutland. These pale waters were shaded to turquoise in some places, so the helmsman explained in execrable Saxon that the lighter color warned of hidden sandbanks. “The sea is a wild creature and she presents herself as a woman who can be soft, beautiful, and seductive when she’s in a mood to be loved. Then the sun and moon dance on her wavelets, when her warm arms and flanks look so soft that a man can believe that she’d hold him above the waves and preserve his life for love of him.”
Arthur nodded his appreciation and complimented the helmsman on his descriptive skills. The man blushed and continued his tale.
“Then, in an instant, the sea can turn nasty when she bares her claws. Ravenously, she tears the beaches into strips, carries away the sand, and spews it into new places where the strongest ships can run aground, founder, and sink. Aye, she can be a bitch, bless her, but we sailors love her, as do all Sae Dene who are forced to endure her moods. Where’s the fun in a woman who’s always smiling?”
Stormbringer laughed at the expression on Arthur’s face that spoke more clearly than words that the Briton preferred his women to be compliant.
“You wonder why we travel around Vendsyssel-Thy rather than sail up the Limfjord Sound to Heorot? In a fit of temper, our mistress has closed the mouth of the fjord in the west and strangled the sea with sand.”
“Aye! I understand,” Arthur replied. “You can tell your helmsman that he has a golden tongue, Captain.”
“Rolf Sea-Shaper will thank you for your kind words,” Stormbringer answered with a flash of white teeth. “He sings the old tales well enough to stand in the drinking halls of Heorot if he was prepared to practice a little harder. But I’d regret his loss! Rolf keeps his head when the sea becomes angry and she tries to swat us like an insect.”
Arthur merely nodded. Loki’s Eye was moving swiftly, powered by the full swelling of the great sail, but the warriors on board had no time to rest under Stormbringer’s captaincy. The vessel must be checked from end to end, for every piece of hide or plaited rope must be examined in the daylight and replaced if worn or faulty. Every length of timber must be scrubbed and the inside of the hull must be checked for storm damage. Similarly, cargo must be kept secure to ensure that the ship stayed level and steady on the waves. Salt air and brine played havoc with weapons and armor, so even the youngest and most callow of the crew members took care when cleaning his fighting accoutrements when the weak light lasted and sea conditions were mild.
The warrior-sailors readily stripped to the waist to clean their leather shirts and plate armor. Arthur had noticed too that the Dene scrubbed their bodies in salt water when his own flesh shrank from any ablutions in the freezing conditions that turned their fresh water into ice. He wondered idly why fresh water froze much faster than brine and decided that salt must be the reason, then rejected any further distractions. They must be close to Heorot.
“I wish I knew who came into possession of my knife!” Arthur muttered to himself. He knew it had been taken when he was struck down, along with his sword, his shield, and his helm. Gareth had carried his heavier armor on one of the spare horses, so Arthur knew that those items were safe. But what of the Dragon Knife? Even now, his palm itched to hold its shagreen hilt and watch the wings and tail of the dragon as they curved around his fist.
Since his capture, Arthur had concluded that the Dene sailors were intelligent and civilized warriors, especially after working so well with them during the storm and its aftermath.
And so it was that he found it difficult to remain angry with Stormbringer.
He disarms me with his honesty when I question him but, ultimately, he remains my enemy. I wish I didn’t admire him or feel such jealousy when he demonstrates his considerable talents, because I end up looking and feeling like a fool. He’s taking us into slavery, so his kindness to us merely ensures that we don’t cause him any trouble, as we could, quite easily, in a ship where all his warriors are fully occupied. Two determined warriors with nothing to lose could cause chaos on a fighting ship until such time as they were caught and killed. But Valdar Bjornsen is a clever man, and he’s far too knowledgeable to allow us to become a disruptive influence.
Arthur had listened to the Dene rowers talking late at night when all was quiet and the men were on the verge of sleep. During these discussions, Arthur had learned that Stormbringer’s name was actually Valdar Bjornsen. The Sae Dene’s father, Bjorn, was considered by these men to be one of the great heroes of the Dene people, although they were wary of disclosing certain oddities about the seafarer. The warriors spoke in awed whispers whenever they used Bjorn’s name or spoke of his exploits.
“Your knife and your sword will be presented to the king, who is my master. Should he so wish, he can always give the knife back to you.” Stormbringer had heard Arthur’s bitter complaint. Arthur responded by staring defiantly at the captain. Stormbringer could hardly miss the challenge in those feral eyes.
Has Stormbringer guessed that I’m considering my chances of escape? Arthur wondered. Does he think to calm me with empty promises? If so, he’s mistaking my nature.
• • •
UNDER THE PALE moon, a small and very hard heel dug into Arthur’s instep with surprising and painful force. He gasped and looked down into his sister’s dimly flushed and furious face. Obviously, his youngest sibling had learned something from Blaise that had roused her slow temper.
“Are you moon-mad, you great lump? Or are your wits still wandering from that blow on the head? Master Stormbringer is our captor . . . and he has treated us with consideration and generosity. What if he had chosen to be less kind? Do you fancy undertaking this journey tied up in the cargo hold at the bottom of the ship? Do you think you would enjoy the slap of foul, salty water from the bilges in your mouth and on your face? Do you long for the sight of your sister being ravished by a whole crew of hairy Dene? I can assure you that I don’t. Every time you try to feel like a man rather than a prisoner, you’re risking our safety. Blaise tried to tell you on a number of occasions, but you . . . just . . . won’t . . . listen!” Every word was punctuated by a sharp blow across the back of the head.
Maeve’s face was twisted into a ferocious mask of anger while her green eyes crackled with energy. Arthur wondered how he had ever thought of her as an encumbrance. “Just . . . don’t . . . do . . . it . . . again!” she ordered.
Arthur nodded, dumbfounded by her passion.
As soon as the sun had set and the privacy of premature night had settled over Loki’s Eye, Maeve separated Arthur from the Dumnonii siblings and beckoned him down into the scuppers. Her hissed words left Arthur in no doubt about her strong feelings.
Something of his regret must have flickered in Arthur’s eyes, so Maeve’s face changed as if by sleight of hand. Even in the deceptive half-light, brother and sister were accustomed to reading the language of each other’s bodies. She was the maid again now, as harmless as a barn mouse.
“Am I really so foolish, Maeve? It seems to me that Stormbringer welcomed my views and treated me as an equal, so I don’t understand your anger!”
“Yes, you are a great lump,” Maeve said, but she laughed a little as she insulted him in her old affectionate way. “Stormbringer is trying to suck you dry of any information he can gain about our homeland. When he enrages you, you talk! You’ve told him everything he’s asked of you. Obliquely, it’s true, but even a man bent on manipulating an enemy can be offended if they’re insulted. Stormbringer is offended—and he’s a bad man to cross! I think he’s something other than a minor lordling, for why would any king entrust a nonentity with the exploration of fresh lands that could easily be filled with riches begging to be plundered?”
Arthur stared up at the enigmatic figure of Stormbringer as the captain stood beside the helmsman with his body loosely moving to the pitch and roll of the sea swell. Every detail of the huge Dene screamed that this man was a superb specimen of physicality. But what was the purpose of the expedition?
Yes, Arthur thought. At times, he had treated this voyage like an adventure rather than considering the horror and pain that threatened the captives. He had acted like a child, so he kissed Maeve’s hand and watched her blush hotly.
“How else can I thank you, my speaker of necessary truths? You are always correct!”
Then Maeve swatted him on the shoulder with the full force of her hand.
“Ow! What was that for? I’m agreeing with you, aren’t I?”
“Don’t you realize you’re our only hope, you idiot! Didn’t Lorcan and Germanus teach you anything other than how to wield weapons? Eamonn, Blaise, and I were just scooped up with the largest of large prizes, but we don’t matter to the Dene in the greater scheme of things. You’re the Last Dragon of Britain, and you’re the one who will make or break the British people. Can’t you feel it in your heart? Trust me, brother, for I know that Stormbringer understands your worth. I’ve seen him watching you, and he measures you to understand what it is about you that his instincts tell him is so important. I don’t want you to beg my pardon, or to feel guilty that you might have been rude or impudent in your speech to the Dene captain. I want you to think before you speak—and to be careful of what you say.”
Arthur had always known that his little sister was strange.
In the dim light he examined her with eyes that were newly opened and aware. She was beautiful in an odd, Celtic fashion, with her wild red hair that defied her best efforts to plait it discreetly into a coronet around her head. Her eyes were the transparent green of water in sunlight, where tall trees lend color to a clean river. A sooty ring of charcoal defined her irises and, depending on her mood, her eyes could burn or caress as easily as smiles came to her petal-pink mouth. He had ignored her or patronized her, but he could now feel the full force of her. His strength was trivial when compared with such power.
Then his sister giggled and the spell was broken. Maeve was his little sister and only a fond, twelve-year-old child. But Arthur wouldn’t be deceived again.
“What about the itch at the back of your mind, Arthur? Does it still trouble you?” His odd gift had been a family joke for years.
Arthur shook his head regretfully. “I haven’t felt a trace of it since we were captured.”
“Perhaps it’s only waiting until such time as it’s needed. Be careful, Arthur! The sea is full of shadows and we weren’t born to love these lands—or the waters around them. We belong to the forests, the rivers, and ancient lakes that are deep, cold, and filled with light. Your dragon is of the earth. Stormbringer loves a serpent wrought of ice and fire, so his dragon is mated to the cold seas. They are different! We are different—for all that we are alike in many ways.”
Then Maeve turned away to mend a pair of Eamonn’s gloves. The moment of special communion was over, as she squinted in the fitful light of the flare above her and threaded her needle.
• • •
BY DAYLIGHT, Loki’s Eye was surrounded by grey-blue smudges of land. The channel was narrow and the current ran strongly so that the rowers were forced to labor hard to keep to the courses that Stormbringer seemed to conjure out of thin air. Islands loomed around them and the coast to their right was wild, harsh, and deeply slashed with the clefts that Stormbringer called fjords. Arthur could now understand why Britain was such a rich green prize. Here in the frozen north, the Dene lands were carved out of raw stone, the earth seemed sterile and the sea consisted of a series of stirred cauldrons, despite Stormbringer’s assurance that the weather was very good.
In the night, just before daybreak, Arthur had been awakened to shouts and curses from Stormbringer and the sound of wood tearing along the sides of the ship from a drowned stone ridge. Loki’s Eye bucked like a wild horse under the sting of the lash, so the helmsman threw the full weight of his body against the rudder, while the oarsmen on the side closest to the hidden teeth of stone raised their oars to save themselves from disaster. The vessel turned the merest fraction, but the ugly, tearing sound ceased immediately. One of the more agile warriors leaped down into the bilges and its low hold, searching for damage to the ship’s hull.
No water had penetrated the hull of Loki’s Eye. The Kattegat had kissed the Dene ship with a lover’s sharp teeth and an invasive tongue, but she had allowed the vessel to pull away skittishly from her embrace.
Nor, by even the flicker of an eyelash, did Stormbringer show any strain or nervousness. With newly alerted eyes, Arthur saw a thin bead of sweat glisten on the Dene’s forehead, and he knew then that they had been in great peril.
Now that Maeve had alerted him to his position on board the ship, Arthur began to watch Stormbringer more closely, while accepting that he was also being observed. He noted immediately that the crew treated the captain with all the camaraderie of the sea, but an extra layer of deference bowed their heads a fraction lower than was strictly necessary. Most crews contain at least one malcontent, slow to obey or a little insolent in his actions, but Arthur could find no recalcitrant sailors among this crew. In fact, Stormbringer’s warriors worshipped him and hung upon his orders with an unusually ardent anticipation. Several hard-bitten warriors blushed when Stormbringer thanked them for exceptional efforts or congratulated them for work well done.
These men love Stormbringer like a father, Arthur thought, and they’d die for him in an instant, without regret. The Sae Dene captain is a very unusual man.
Once Arthur had been convinced to speak less and listen more, he quickly became aware that Eamonn had been struggling with a weight of misery invisible to the self-absorbed prince during the voyage. Eamonn had rarely spoken and was eating sparingly. He spent much of the day staring out at the sea and was distant and vague when he responded to questions. Bad dreams caused Eamonn to be wakeful during the darkest hours of the night, while his sense of humor, previously his greatest strength, had gradually vanished.
Cursing his lack of sensitivity, Arthur approached his friend and ignored Eamonn’s attempts to deflect the conversation away from his state of mind.
“Don’t try to convince me that you’re not feeling miserable about something because I won’t believe you. I know you haven’t been eating, and you’ve closed yourself off from the rest of us. It’s my duty to protect the girls from the consequences of my failures, Eamonn. It’s not your problem—because you’re not at fault! We need you to be sharp and ready to fight if we’re presented with even a faint chance to escape from our captivity.”
“Look at the barbarians, Arthur. Do you really think we have any chance against a nation of such huge warriors?” Eamonn’s voice dragged with a desolation of the spirit that resisted Arthur’s brisk pleas. The young prince tried to shake his friend out of his torpor once again.
“Some men can’t bear to be constrained, Eamonn. Others feel that capture means failure. But you must believe me when I say that there’s always hope. Sooner or later, the tallest and most intelligent of our jailers will make an error and we must be ready to capitalize on it. We only have to wait and trust to British luck. It saved us at the battle of Calleva Atrebatum when we should have died. And it saved us from the storm. Ask yourself why we’ve survived so far, because I don’t believe in chance.”
He smiled encouragingly at his friend. “Meanwhile, I’m convinced that Stormbringer won’t allow the girls to be despoiled. Oddly enough, I believe him to be a gentleman, despite being a barbarian!”
“Won’t he?” Eamonn’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “You can’t allow these bastards to fool you. He’ll sell the girls for the highest price he can get, so we’ll never see them again. I’ll end my days chained to an oar until I drown on the rowers’ bench. I should have killed my sister, and myself, before I surrendered our lives to the cursed Dene.”
“That’s coward’s talk!” Arthur exclaimed, before he could check his tongue. He paled, for the thought of Eamonn committing the sin of suicide had never occurred to Arthur before and he was appalled. If Eamonn had considered murdering Blaise, he must have been in torment for weeks.
“Please don’t do anything stupid, Eamonn. I’ve discussed our likely fate with Blaise, and I know she’d prefer to live as a slave rather than accept a watery grave in these seas. She’ll gladly trust to Mistress Fortuna to determine her fate.” Arthur could see a gleam of red madness in Eamonn’s usually dancing eyes, reminding him that his friend’s ancestors were warriors of distinction. Eamonn would never surrender, as long as he knew he had no other honorable way out.
“There’s always hope while we remain alive, Eamonn, so we may still be able to free ourselves in the future. I can think of no reason to succumb to death when every day gives some promise of a change for the better.”
Eamonn had been very successful in hiding his depression from his sister and Maeve. When the other captives had greeted each new day with smiles, regardless of privations, Eamonn had simply been convinced that their survival indicated a lack of moral fiber.
I’m an idiot, Arthur thought, for I missed all the warning signs.
“I can’t afford to watch you every minute of the day, Eamonn. I need to be ready to find a way out of this cursed land and return to Arden. I am absolutely committed to our escape, one way or another. If you should throw your sister or yourself into the seas, you’ll put an end to all my plans and make me very angry.”
That’s right, Arthur, make Eamonn feel as guilty as you can. The voice in Arthur’s brain was so clear he could have sworn that Eamonn heard it. Surprised, Arthur almost dropped the waterskin he was holding.
“I won’t do anything untoward until I know the very worst fate that can be inflicted on us,” Eamonn promised wistfully. “But if the worst comes to the worst, my oldest friend, you mustn’t blame yourself for my actions. My mother would say our fates have brought us to this particular ship and the wild places through which we have sailed. I hunger for the smell of home—so to hell with fate, and to hell with the Dene!”
“Yes, Eamonn!” Arthur snatched at the sudden flare of rage in his friend’s eyes. Anything was better than a blank submission to death. “You must hate them, if that’s what it takes to keep you alive. Just imagine how you’d kill them if they should give you the smallest opening. Believe in anything, but not in submission, for we are the people! We are kin to King Artor, and there’s nothing we can’t survive if we decide to endure. I ask only that you keep your promise, and do nothing to harm yourself until you speak to me first.”
Eamonn caught a spark of the fervor in Arthur’s words and willingly gave an oath to do no harm to himself.
“Be warned that I’ll hold you to your word, Eamonn.” Arthur had been holding his breath while he waited for Eamonn’s decision.
“Aye, my friend! I know you will!”
Eamonn turned and wrapped himself in a blanket, ignoring the smell of fish and sweat that permeated the wool. Curled into a tight ball, he closed his eyes to declare to his friend that their conversation was over.
Arthur looked out over the rolling swell. As he watched the shoreline, he became increasingly aware that they were moving inexorably closer to the jagged cliffs marking the shores of Jutland.
Then, high on the mast, a warrior cried out a warning and the entire crew turned to look in the direction of his pointing hand.
“Look, Son of the Dragon, for yonder is Limfjord and our home.” Stormbringer’s voice rang with triumph, and the warriors at their oars broke into ragged cheering. They had dared to risk the impossibly dangerous seas, and the singers in Heorot would soon praise their exploits at the feet of the High King.
The Sae Dene crew were coming home at last.
• • •
THE SUN ROSE on what would be a perfect winter’s day for these climes. The fjord was narrow and grim, with teeth of stone ready to snap shut on the keels of unwary ships. Only sailors of great skill would dare to sail through its gaping icy maw.
As if they smelled the woodsmoke that drifted from their homes, the warriors began to row with a will, and Loki’s Eye slid into a current that carried them deep into the land until the open sea had completely vanished. Arthur began to fear that the speed of the slender vessel in the wild current would bring her to grief. Even Eamonn was wrenched out of his torpid sleep. Time scurried by on rats’ feet as the ship rode the sweeping waters. Above them, the sky narrowed to a slit of pallid light as the jagged cliffs hemmed them in, leaving Arthur feeling dizzy as he stared skyward.
At the tiller, Stormbringer stood fearlessly and laughed as if he sought to challenge the combined might of wind, water, and stone.
“Can you see into the distance, Arthur? Heorot is only a few hours away and, as I promised, the pleasure of the High King will reward us for our courage. See? Heorot is shining in the rising sun.” Stormbringer’s voice rang out to the crew. “Now is the time to prepare, my brave warriors, so we’ll allow the sun to shimmer like fire on our shields. Make the sunlight bleed on our battle-axes so that the common folk of Heorot will know that heroes have returned with a tribute for their king.”
Us! Yes! We have become a tribute, Arthur thought dryly, and forced himself to follow Maeve’s instructions. Listen! Watch!
The warriors released their huge circular shields from the cradles on the outer planks of the hull where the shipbuilders had provided an extra layer of protection in case of attack or accident. In many ways, the shields were primitive, being made of an unusually light but dense wood. Huge bosses jutted out from the center of the shields; their barbaric patterns caught any rays of sunlight and caused the metal to writhe and burn. The Dene artisans were obviously expert smiths, but heavy bull hide was also used to supplement the metals. These shields were reinforced with hide from an aurochs. The edges of all the shields were protected with this hide, except for Stormbringer’s shield, which was edged with brass.
As soon as the shields were cleaned and polished, they were laid back into their cradles. Meanwhile, the current continued to drive the vessel on at breakneck speed.
Maeve’s eyes were sad. “When Loki’s Eye rides at anchor, the women of the town will know who has returned and who has died.” Her eyes turned to a storage area near the bow of the ship where, for the first time, Arthur noticed that wrapped bodies lay in the darkness with their shields lashed to their corpses. Stormbringer had refused to leave a single warrior behind in the strange land of Britannia, so had brought their corpses home to their womenfolk. The corpses were still cold and seemed but newly dead within their shrouds.
Each warrior and crew member polished and sharpened his weapon and cleaned his helmet. The single-bladed axes had a wicked appearance, much more terrifying in their grim utility than the curved, two-bladed monstrosities used by the Saxons.
But it was the swords that made Arthur’s heart stutter within his rib cage. The utilitarian Dene blades possessed a beauty superior to that of the gem-encrusted weapons used by British lordlings. When he was a young boy, Bedwyr had told him of Caliburn, the huge sword owned by King Artor that only a man of exceptional height and strength could hope to wield in combat. If Bedwyr spoke truthfully, this magical blade had been lost forever in the tarn at Caer Gai, but Caliburn would remain in the memories of all the men who had seen it.
Gods! Arthur thought blasphemously and invoked the curses of the Old Ones, as he often did when he was unsettled. We would stand no chance against an army of Dene warriors. Do they have armies? Pray God that they will be too disorganized to have a single, thinking head, else the ice dragon will gobble us up entirely.
Stormbringer looked down with satisfaction at his men, who were now armed and seated in formal rows. He nodded once and lowered his twin-winged helmet over his head, until the long nose guard turned his face into an enigmatic shadow. Then, reverently, he lifted a bag from a peg on the mast and drew out a huge bronze horn decorated with orange gold.
“Row now—by my count—and let’s show our wives and sweethearts that they had best kick any soft bastards out of our beds. Their men have come home from the wild sea, and such warriors will not brook any interlopers at their hearths.”
Stormbringer lifted the great horn to his lips and drew in a mighty breath. The horn cried out in triumph with a raucous, brazen voice that shook the cliffs and the small coves that sheltered at their feet, sending the gulls into the air to flap and scream in fright. The cliffs sent the sound echoing along the narrow passage of the Limfjord, even as the dragon’s prow of Loki’s Eye turned and the vessel was driven at great speed across the terrible strength of the current.
Just when Arthur was sure that they would be dashed onto huge portals of rough stone that stood like graven sentries along the narrow passage, the vessel dived into a patch of still water. Beyond, the fjord opened up. Against the odds, the great lake on Limfjord, deep within the landmass, had been reached.
“Behold! We have arrived at Heorot!” Stormbringer shouted triumphantly, and blew his horn once more until the echoes answered, causing the air to ring and thrum with brazen war cries. On the left hand, atop one of the stone portals, an indistinct figure raised his axe high into the new sun in welcome, while the winter light struck the edge of his blade with the sudden glitter of ice or iron.
Even in his anxious state, Eamonn felt his heart race with excitement as the sun struck a headland and a long hall that was gleaming in the weak sun. Arthur stood at his side and drew in his breath in wonder. Red blazed in the light like spilled blood. Gold, green, yellow, and orange flared and danced with that crimson, while the great hall of legend seemed to coil with an unnatural life as if a serpent had raised its startled and angry head.
Their long voyage was over. Now, their fates would become clear and Arthur would learn what it was to be a slave.