Beside her stood a man, tall and hulking, a wolf pelt draped across his shoulders. He leaned upon a long-axe, the sides of his head shaved like Agnar’s, but where Agnar’s hair was yellow as ripe corn, this man’s was black as the grave. Like Ilska, he was looking back at the Battle-Grim as they lined along the pier.
Agnar thumped his sword hilt into his shield with a rhythmic pounding. Elvar joined him, and in heartbeats all of the Battle-Grim were beating upon their shields: a rowing rhythm, a battle rhythm. A promise.
Elvar saw the flash of white teeth as Ilska grinned. She raised an arm to Agnar, saluting or mocking, Elvar did not know.
“She will come to regret stealing from me,” Agnar said and spat at the lapping waves.
Elvar laid out a wool blanket on a table and laid her battle-gains upon it. A sword and scabbard, belt, a brynja, a pouch with bone dice and a few copper coins. A silver torc and three silver arm rings. Boots, breeches and a bloodstained tunic. She had stripped it all from the blond warrior’s corpse outside their tavern, as was her right.
The sword and brynja will fetch a good price, and the boots, breeches and tunic look like they will fit Grend, she thought.
Deeper inside the tavern Biórr was being tended by Kráka. Sighvat was asking Biórr questions, but the young warrior was just staring and mumbling. On the table next to him Thrud’s corpse had been wrapped in his cloak. They would take his body to the Sea-Wolf and drop it into the sea, once they were out on the ocean currents. The corpses of the Raven-Feeders were thrown naked into the street. Now that the blood-quickening that battle brings had left her, Elvar felt her stomach lurch at the sight of the burned corpses that had been found collapsed around Uspa.
That is power I have never seen from a Seier-witch before, she thought, and I have grown up around Silrie and then Kráka.
Uspa was still unconscious, laid upon a table close to Biórr and Kráka.
Agnar was talking to the landlord, counting out coin from a pouch to pay for the damage the Battle-Grim had brought upon the tavern.
“It is not Agnar’s fault,” Elvar said.
“No, but it is deep-cunning,” Grend said as he rolled up the items he had stripped from his kill. A hand-axe and seax, a fine-tooled belt, tunic and boots. “If Agnar leaves Snakavik known for the destruction of his resting place,” Grend continued, “and a reputation for not paying, then the next time he is here the Battle-Grim will most likely be sleeping on the deck of the Wave-Jarl.”
Elvar grunted at that wisdom. She did not mind sleeping on a ship’s deck, but recognised the pleasures of a straw bed and a hearth fire. She was about to tie her newfound treasure in the wool blanket when she paused and lifted one of the silver arm rings. It was thick and heavy, torchlight flickering where the metal twisted and flowed, the terminals carved into the likeness of a snarling wolf or hound.
Elvar held it out to Grend.
He looked at the arm ring, then at her.
“I do not follow you for wealth or prizes,” he said with a frown.
“I know,” Elvar said. “This is a gift, in recognition of your friendship. You would insult me if you refuse it.”
Grend frowned, then reached out hesitantly and took the silver ring from her. He threaded it over his large fist, up his forearm and about his bicep, then squeezed it tight. He looked at Elvar and she saw his eyes were bright. He said nothing, just dipped his head to her.
Uspa groaned, shifting on the table, and Elvar hurried to her. As she did so she saw Agnar’s eyes upon her, his face unreadable.
Kráka helped Uspa to sit up and offered her a cup of watered ale.
“Where is Bjarn?” Uspa croaked, her eyes searching the room. She grabbed Kráka’s wrist. “Tell me, sister,” she whispered.
“He is taken,” Kráka said.
Uspa let out a wail, her hands clawing at her face.
Elvar grabbed Uspa’s wrists and pulled her hands away, leaving blood smeared on Uspa’s cheeks.
“I told you,” Uspa hissed at Elvar. “I told you we needed to leave Snakavik.”
“This was why? You knew?” Elvar asked.
“Uspa spoke to you of this?” Agnar said as he reached them, his brows knotted in a frown. “Thrud died. He was a good warrior, a friend.” He looked from Uspa to Elvar. “I should have been told.”
Elvar blinked, looking at the corpse of Thrud, tied in his cloak.
Could I have averted this, she thought. Saved Thrud’s life?
“I…” she muttered, but bit back the words gathering on her tongue. She had stopped making excuses to her father a long time ago. She would not choose that path again.