“Good job, lad,” Svik said to Torvik, patting his shoulder. “I’ll take things from here.” He stabbed his spear butt into the ground and ran his fingers through his red beard, pulling out knots, and twirled his moustaches and began braiding them.
“What are you doing?” Varg whispered.
“Getting ready,” Svik said.
“For what?” Varg said.
“The signal. There’s going to be a scrap, of course. Blood will be spilled, and I want to look my best for battle. It’s important.” He looked Varg up and down. “I suggest you make yourself ready.” Svik grinned. “Time for us to earn our silver and battle-fame.”
He finished tidying his beard, then unbuckled his helm from his belt and tugged it on to his head, shrugged his shield from his back, settled his hand into the grip and let it hang at his side, before pulling his spear out of the soft earth.
Around him the others were all doing the same, Halja and Vali setting their shields against a tree, buckling on helms, taking leather covers from spearheads, checking the draw of seax and sword from their scabbards. When they were satisfied, they gripped their shields and stood beside Svik. J?kul Hammer-Hand squatted, scooping up a handful of pine needles and soil, rubbed it between his palms and let it filter through his fingers. Then he stood, pulled his helm on tight and slipped a hammer from a hoop in his belt, the black-iron head pitted and stained, the haft longer than a normal hammer’s, more like an axe. He shrugged his shield from his back and stood, his brows heavy and dour, glowering down at the skraelings in the glade.
Einar’s shield was as big as a table. He pulled it from his back and hefted it, then drew an axe from his belt, the blade hooked and bearded.
Torvik loosened his seax in its scabbard and lifted his shield from his back. Stood with shield and spear ready.
Varg blinked and realised he should be doing the same. He unbuckled his helm from his belt and pulled it over the n?lbinding cap he was wearing, tugged the buckle tight under his chin. Next he checked the draw of his seax, axe and cleaver, all of them hanging on his weapons belt, letting them slip back into place. Then he took the leather cover from his spear blade, threading it through his belt, and finally he shrugged his shield from his back and gripped the wooden handle, his fist and knuckles fitting into the space of the iron boss.
He looked up, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest, and saw Svik looking at him.
“Brothers, sisters, are we ready?” Svik said to them, all humour gone from him. “Remember, we are Bloodsworn, bound to one another. Stand or fall, we are sworn to each other. That is our strength.”
Nods, grunts.
Svik looked at Varg and Torvik. “Well, not you two, but if you survive this…” He shrugged and grinned.
That’s comforting, Varg thought. He felt the strong urge to empty his bladder.
“With me,” Svik said, and led them through the trees, down the slope and closer to the glade and cave entrance. He stopped before the trees thinned, still on the slope, maybe forty or fifty paces to level ground and the muddy glade. Svik rested his shield on the ground and kneeled behind it, all the others settling around him, except for Einar, who stayed standing. They all wore brynjas, except for Varg and Torvik. J?kul wore a pitted leather apron over his coat of mail.
Varg looked into the glade over his shield rim. The thrumming in his blood was stronger here, pulsing in his bones like the beat of a drum. And at the same time, fear slithered through his belly, turning his legs weak, making his mouth dry. He was looking at vaesen and warriors, all with sharp iron or steel on their belts or in their fists. And he was going to fight them.
He swallowed, no spit in his mouth, wanted to stand and move, a voice in his thought-cage whispering to him.
Just walk away. How can you fulfil your oath to Fr?ya if you are dead? Who are these people to you? You should wait until battle is joined, and then just slip away.
Instead he just stood there, waiting for death’s wings to settle over the glade.
There was a movement at the edge of the glade, and Glornir stepped out into the sunlight.
“Move,” Svik said, his voice a growl, rising and striding down the rest of the slope. They all followed, Einar and J?kul moving to the wings, Torvik, Halja and Vali immediately behind Svik. Varg stood, hovered a moment, hefted his shield and then he was following them.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ELVAR
Elvar undid knots in the walrus-rope that she had used to strap Grend to the back of an empty cart, her fingers numb and swollen. She swore and cursed as she struggled with a knot, eventually tugging it free.