She flew as fast as she could, but the eagle was faster. Katla was overtaking her, had abandoned her own spell in pursuit of the hawk, and Oddny saw a flash of talons out of the corner of her eye—
But just before they reached her, one of Runfrid’s arrows pierced the eagle’s breast.
Oddny didn’t dare look back to watch Katla fall. She’d made it to the fjord, and the knarr was below her with the fleet just behind, and she’d done it.
She heard the splash of the eagle’s body hitting the water but didn’t turn around. She flew on, her wind blowing the fog into the cluster of ships anchored and lashed together in the middle of the fjord. With horror she realized that the battle was over: Tired, bloody warriors shuffled about the decks like revenants, and while some bodies floated in the water, Oddny knew others had been dragged down by Ran’s net, never to resurface. At first she couldn’t tell who’d won, for she spotted no familiar faces among the living or the dead, but then her bird’s eyes moved to the biggest ships, each with different sails. She recognized Thorbjorg, sitting at the stern of one, staff in hand, eyes white. She was in trance.
This couldn’t be good. Where’s Gunnhild?
Oddny didn’t have time to wonder, for then she spotted, on the same ship, a sight that made her stomach drop.
Eirik was on his knees, hands tied before him. In front of him stood Olaf, who seemed to have been delivering some sort of victory speech, and who now looked offended at being interrupted by the shouts of surprise from his men as Oddny’s fog rolled in and surrounded them.
Satisfied that her wind was still blowing in the right direction, she swooped down to investigate.
“Well, well,” Olaf was saying. “I suppose that means Thorbjorg’s friend is about to sink Arinbjorn Thorisson’s fleet. Would that she’d made her fog disappear altogether, but it matters little.”
Eirik gave him a bland smile. Despite being covered in blood, he seemed no worse for wear. “You’d best get rid of me before Father arrives, and take care that your witches don’t accidentally sink his ships as well. I sent word to Avaldsnes at the same time I did to Arinbjorn.”
“I’m not going to kill you, you fool,” Olaf said.
“Is that so?” Eirik flexed his fingers; his nails were bitten to the quick. “And for all these years I thought you meant to avenge Bjorn.”
“I do. He was the best man I’d ever known, and he deserved better than what you did to him,” Olaf said, genuine pain in his voice. But then his expression hardened, and his tone with it. “Unfortunately, I can’t avenge one brother by slaying another—I’m no kinslayer. So once Thorbjorg is finished dealing with that wife of yours, she’s going to be the one to put a dagger in your heart. I’ve promised her that much.”
Eirik looked to where Thorbjorg sat, then back to Olaf. The bored smile slid off his face and he replied with a calm, cold fury that struck Oddny as deeply unnerving. “If any harm has come to Gunnhild,” he said, “I will rip you limb from limb. I will destroy you so thoroughly that there will be nothing left of you to bury. I will send you to Valhalla in so many pieces that our own forefathers won’t recognize you—”
“I’m not the one whose hands are tied. You may be Father’s trained wolf, but I’ve rendered you toothless,” Olaf spat. “Your threats mean nothing to me.”
Oddny flew down to perch on the ship’s gunnel, and Eirik turned to her.
Their eyes met. His widened in recognition.
But before he could say anything, another ship burst out of the fog and rammed into Olaf’s, and Oddny took to the air again just as a figure sprinted down the gunnel of the other ship and leapt. As she rose, Oddny saw the flash of two blades being drawn midair—and moments later Arinbjorn landed hard with both feet on the back of one of Olaf’s retainers, whose neck cracked against the fish mast with an audible snap as he dropped.
Thorolf came next, then Svein, then the rest. More of the ships from Fjordane attached themselves to Olaf’s, reinforcements swarming them from all sides, and Eirik grinned ferociously as he leapt to his feet and clobbered the nearest man over the head with his bound fists. Arinbjorn slit his bonds with one fell swoop of his seaxes, and Thorolf kicked his axes to him across the slick deck.
Eirik bent to pick up his weapons. When he raised them, the man nearest to him soiled himself and jumped into the water. Oddny had a feeling he wouldn’t be the last. The wolf had his teeth back.
As the battle began anew, Oddny spotted the knarr moving through the clearing fog and she made for her body. She flew back into her chest, as she’d seen Gunnhild’s swallow do, just as the ship docked. The moment she dropped the distaff and jolted awake, Signy and Runfrid both had their arms around her, and Halldor was scooping her up and swinging her around and telling her how amazing she’d been, but—
A small ship had detached from Olaf’s fleet and was speeding toward them on the same wind that had brought them so swiftly to the docks. They didn’t have much time.
“We have to hurry. Thorbjorg is doing something to Gunnhild,” Oddny said, twisting free of Halldor. She grabbed her bag and scrambled off the ship before it was even fully secured, and Runfrid, Signy, and Halldor followed, Alf and Eyvind at their heels.
35
THE ESTATE WAS UNNERVINGLY empty. Oddny made for the main hall, and the moment she threw the door open, she was greeted with a group of civilians ready to attack: all with familiar faces, armed with everything from whalebone weaving swords to pitchforks and, in the case of the cookhouse girls, several heavy frying pans. Even the thralls were there, the men armed with tools from the smithy, the women with wicked-looking wool combs and sharpened broom handles.
“Oddny Ketilsdottir,” said Hrafnhild, lowering the massive kitchen knife she’d been about to swing. “Could it be? We thought you—”
“There’s no time,” Oddny said. “Where’s Gunnhild?”
The crowd parted for Queen Gyda, who’d pushed her way to the front. “She left as the battle began. We couldn’t stop her, the foolish girl. She ran for the workshop with—”
“Let’s go,” Oddny said at once, and her party hurried back outside—
Only to find two dozen armed men coming toward them, with Tryggvi Olafsson at their head, and more warriors exiting his ship where it had docked next to the knarr.
Halldor drew his seax, and Alf and Eyvind their swords. Behind them, through the still-open door of the longhouse, the Hordalanders pressed forward, their own makeshift weapons in hand.
“We meet again,” Tryggvi called to his cousin.
“Go, Oddny,” Halldor said without looking at her. “Find Gunnhild.”
She grabbed his arm. “No. You can’t. Your knee—”
He ignored her and raised his voice. “Just you and me, Tryggvi. No one else needs to get hurt.”
“Ah. I’m sorry, cousin. That’s not the way things are going to be.” Tryggvi stopped and slid his sword lazily from its sheath. “You lot are going to go back inside and wait with the rest of them. My father will deal with you once he’s done with Eirik.”
“We’ll see about that.” Halldor turned and gave Oddny a look that said, Go, and before Oddny could argue with him, Signy stepped forward, unbuckling her belt and removing the sword.