Dropping his hand from his temple, Snorri looked at Bjorn. “When is the soonest he could come?”
Bjorn cleared his throat. “A matter of weeks.”
“With the losses we took against Gnut, we wouldn’t stand a chance in resisting Harald,” Ragnar said, even as Leif blurted out, “Are you sure this woman is worth it, Father? Perhaps it’s better to kill her and be done with it. She seems more likely to get us all killed than to see you to power.”
Next to me, Bjorn’s axe flared to life before disappearing again, and Leif frowned at him. “I merely pose the question of Father, for as jarl, it is his decision.”
“There is no decision to be made,” Ylva snapped. “Freya will make your father king of Skaland if only we hold true to the course, and as his son, you stand to benefit most.”
Leif cast his eyes skyward. “Bjorn stands to benefit most, Mother. But I will be proud to fight at his side whether he becomes jarl or king, it makes no difference. I ask though, how much will our family stand to lose by keeping this woman alive? How much will Halsar lose? For me, I say it is not worth it.”
Though the boy spoke of killing me, I found myself in approval of Leif’s reasoning, for he seemed to value lives above power and reputation and ambition. Wise beyond his years and having clearly been raised to understand what should be important to a jarl.
“The gods would punish us for spitting in the face of the gift they’ve given,” Snorri answered. “Even if they did not, if we were to kill Freya, it would be seen by our enemies as weakness. They’d see me backing away from an opportunity for greatness out of cowardice and fear, and all our enemies would come for us. We stay the course.”
Leif frowned, the expression turning to a scowl as Ylva nodded approvingly, but before the boy could say anything, Bjorn asked, “What is the course? How do you plan to gain the alliances you need in the short time you might have before the raids come?”
A practical question.
“By gathering all the jarls of Skaland together and convincing them that united, we stand at better odds.” Snorri smiled. “Which gives us more proof that the gods favor us, for the jarls already travel to meet in one place. Ready your things, for we ride to pay homage to the gods at Fjalltindr.”
Fjalltindr was the sacred temple on the very top of the mountain known as Hammar. Every nine years there was a gathering that drew people from near and far to pay tribute to the gods and offer their sacrifices. I’d never been before, my parents having always claimed that it was not a place for children, and this would be the first time it took place since I’d come of age.
The great hall was in a flurry of activity, two dozen horses and a number of pack animals already saddled and loaded when I emerged in dry clothes and a thick cloak. Ylva was directing the process, the lady of Halsar no longer attired in a costly dress, but in warrior’s clothes, including a mail shirt, a long seax hanging from her belt. I had no doubt that she knew how to use it.
Particularly when her opponent’s back was turned.
“You will remain with the warriors I’m leaving behind to protect Halsar,” Snorri said to Leif. “You will be lord in my absence. Send word across my territories calling for those who can fight and tell them to prepare.”
“Prepare to be attacked?” Leif crossed his arms, expression displeased. “There will be anger, Father.”
“Remind them that we are favored by the gods,” Snorri answered as he mounted his horse. “If they care not for that, then remind them that those who fight for me will be rewarded.” Turning away from his son, he said to me, “We lost horses in the fire, so we are short. You will ride with Bjorn.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that as Snorri reached down to lift Ylva, who settled comfortably behind him. Steinunn also shared a mount, though with a young thrall woman, the skald watching my every move, though no emotion showed on her face. Sighing, I walked over to Bjorn’s big roan gelding, noting that he was also wearing mail. “What happened to riding shirtless into battle?” I grumbled, my aching arms protesting as he pulled me up behind him, knowing it would be my arse suffering in a few hours. The horse likely wouldn’t be impressed, either.
“You’re riding behind me, Born-in-Fire,” he said, heeling the horse into a walk. “And it is very nearly guaranteed that I’ll say something to anger you on the journey. It’s a long ride and I’ve no talent for silence.”
“Well, that is certainly the truth.” I barely managed to curb a yelp as he urged the horse into a canter that nearly sent me toppling off the back. I clung to Bjorn’s waist as he followed Snorri out of Halsar, but as we left the town, a hooded figure on a rocky outcropping caught my attention.