The Sea of Trolls - Farmer Nancy - Страница 27

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It was all gone. All that cruelty had been for nothing.

Jack found a slab of cheese to tempt Lucy. The Northmen gnawed on limp fish, no doubt trying to use it up before it turned rotten. In late afternoon Eric Pretty-Face, on watch at the prow, bellowed that he saw land. Jack squinted at the watery east. He saw a hump of white cloud rising from the sea. As they drew nearer it appeared to flow upward like a slow, milky river. Jack was entranced. It was fog moving up over a tree-covered mountain. He heard surf breaking in the distance.

“Where are we?” said Olaf.

“I’d say, by the shape of that mountain, we’re in Magnus the Mauler’s territory,” said a warrior.

“No, no. The currents are forming an S-pattern from that fjord,” argued another. “We’re in Gizur Thumb-Crusher’s land.”

“ Thatoath-breaker!” snarled Olaf.

Aren’t these people ever called Gizur the Good or Magnus the Merry?thought Jack.

“Let’s send out the expert,” said Sven the Vengeful. From the end of the oars rose a man Jack had scarcely noticed, except to wonder what he was doing on the ship. He was so old, he seemed hardly capable of rowing, let alone swinging a sword in battle. His hair hung in untidy wisps from under a leather cap. His hands were mottled with age spots, and his body had no more fat on it than a dry twig. He crept from his place with difficulty, having frozen into position at the oar.

“Will you help us, Rune?” said Olaf politely. Jack was surprised. The giant never asked anyone’s cooperation. He gave orders, usually along with threats.

“I will,” said Rune in such a whispery voice that Jack had to strain his ears to hear. Then he saw that the old man had a terrible scar on one side of his neck. It was amazing Rune could breathe, let alone speak.

The warriors helped the old man out of his clothes. If he was pitiful dressed, he was worse naked. His whole body was seamed with old cuts and gouges. He was as wrinkled as a dried apple, and his knees and elbows were swollen with the bone-ache that afflicted the old.

The men tied a rope under his arms and lowered him over the side. Jack heard a splash as he hit the water. “Slowly,” roared Olaf. “We’re not fishing for whales here.” Jack heard Rune’s arms swishing. He heard him splutter as he got a mouthful of water. Everyone stood perfectly still, waiting. A few curious gulls soared over the ship. It was late, and they circled briefly and went back to land.

“Are you finished, old friend?” called Olaf.

Rune must have said no because the Northmen didn’t react. Finally, the old man was pulled, dripping and shivering, over the side. Olaf quickly wrapped him in furs and gave him a skin of wine. “The sea isn’t as warm as it was in our youth, eh?” he said.

“It was always as cold as a troll’s buttocks,” said Rune in his whispery voice.

Olaf laughed. “What can you tell us?”

“The sea tastes of pine and spruce. It is fed by a swift-flowing river from high in the mountains. The current curves like an adder crossing the sand. It is black while the sea is green, and it sinks because it comes from the snow. The air smells of smoked venison and fresh-cut peat. A breeze comes from a valley not far to the north and swings up the river.” On and on Rune went, recording amazing detail. He finished with, “We’re in Gizur Thumb-Crusher’s land. His village lies an hour’s sailing to the north.”

The warriors huddled around the old man. The sun had set, and gray evening stretched across the sea to the fog still flowing up the darkly wooded mountain. Here and there the first stars appeared.

“Who wants to go berserk?” said Olaf softly.

“I want to go! I have the right!” said Thorgil. The ship had been driven onto a beach. The warriors were unwrapping weapons and examining them by the light of a small fire.

“You have the right to obey my orders,” Olaf said. “I want you to guard the ship.”

“Why me?”

“Who else is going to watch your thrall?”

“I don’t want her!” ranted Thorgil. “She’s weak, she’s useless. I wanted to trade her for a sword, but you wouldn’t let me!”

“You presume too much from my friendship with your father,” said Olaf. His voice was quiet and even. It was how he sounded, Jack had discovered, before he fell into a rage.

Thorgil must have realized this because she backed down: “I only wanted to make you proud.”

“I am proud of you,” the giant said. “But you must learn discipline. Eric Broad-Shoulders and Eric the Rash will stay with you. They’re afraid of the dark and wouldn’t be of much use anyhow. Rune will stay to make sure you treat Lucy well.”

“Rune,” muttered Thorgil.

“I can watch my sister if you need another warrior,” Jack said hopefully. With any luck, the shield maiden would fall in battle.

“Oh, no. You’re coming along,” said Olaf.

“Me?” cried Jack.

“Him?”shrieked Thorgil at the same time.

Olaf upended Thorgil by the ankles and shook her until she was too breathless to curse. “Discipline,” he grunted, dropping her onto the sand.

He dragged Jack to the campfire and selected a knife for him to carry. “This is for your protection. You’re not to join in the fight,” Olaf said.

“Don’t worry,” said Jack.

“I know how exciting pillaging is,” the giant said fondly, ruffling Jack’s hair. It felt like a blow. “No matter how much you’re tempted, just say no.”

“Just say no to pillaging. You got it.”

Olaf hunkered down until he was on a level with Jack’s face. His eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I want you to make a song about me. You’re a young skald, but you’re all we’ve got since Rune got his throat slashed.”

“Was he”—Jack swallowed—“watching a fight?”

“Yes. He was supposed to be doing poetry, but he forgot and ran straight into battle. I couldn’t blame him. Once he was one of the best warriors, but the bone-ache conquered him. Someday I’ll take him on a raid and let him die with a sword in his hand.”

“Kind of you,” said Jack.

“It is, isn’t it?” said Olaf, beaming. “Be sure and put that into the song.”

Jack watched the warriors arm themselves. Most had swords, but a few were limited to short stabbing spears. All of them carried axes. One man had a bundle of torches and a pot of live coals. Each Northman carried two shields, one in front and the other slung on his back. They were made of wood and didn’t seem that sturdy.

The most resplendent of all was Olaf One-Brow. While his men wore leather caps to protect their heads, he had a metal helmet. It had a ridge across the top like a cock’s comb and two panels at the sides to protect his cheeks. But the most unnerving feature was a metal mask like a hawk’s face attached to the front. The beak came down over Olaf’s nose, and his eyes peered out of holes. It made him seem weird and otherworldly.

Unlike the others, he had a chain mail shirt. His great sword hung from his belt along with two throwing axes. Altogether he was a terrifying being. Jack thought anyone would faint dead away if he met the giant berserker in the middle of the night.

And it was the middle of the night. A quarter moon hung in the west. Olaf explained that Gizur’s sentries would be asleep. If the watchdogs could be lured by the bag of half-rotten fish Sven the Vengeful carried, the warriors could move about at will.

“So you can take what you want without fighting,” said Jack.

Olaf’s blow sent him sprawling. “What kind of honorless brute do you think I am? If I took Gizur’s wealth without engaging in battle, I would be no better than a thief. It would show him no respect—oath-breaker though he is.”

Jack sat up, trying to clear his head. He would never understand these monsters.

“There’s one more thing you must understand,” came Olaf’s voice through Jack’s spinning senses. “We’re about to drink the wolf-brew.”

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