Fenrir

74

Ofaeti and Hugin sat by the brazier with the guards.

‘This is a curious vessel,’ said Ofaeti, ‘a ship with no oarsmen but a deal of blood here frozen on the boards.’

Hugin stared into the mist. The riverbanks were no more than shadows, but on the one furthest from the boat was another shadow — not a rock, he was sure. He sniffed hard. There was a smell to it. Wolf.

‘There’s something out there,’ he said. ‘A wolf.’

‘Where?’

The Raven pointed. A howl came from the bank, eerily flat in the heavy air.

‘Our friend the wolf?’

‘I think so,’ said Hugin.

‘Then we are in good luck to have found him so soon. We can kill him and go home.’

There was movement on the ice — black shapes, fog spectres. But not spectres, men. Twenty paces from the ship the druzhina emerged. They were terrifying-looking warriors — gigantic in their furs, their breath steaming about them as if they were creatures of the mist. They faced the ship in a line, silently staring at the men by the brazier. The Raven’s sword was free from its scabbard and the two guards soon lay dead.

‘Too late to worry about what’s out there, I think,’ said Ofaeti, glancing down at the corpses. He looked at the fog; it was still reducing vision to less than the throw of a stone. He could run, he thought, lose himself in the murk. Maybe. But he would probably be cut down before he got away. Unlike the Raven, he wasn’t quick on his feet. Besides, he hadn’t been raised that way. Running was not for Thiorek, called Ofaeti, son of Thetmar of the berserker line of Thetleif. He vaulted into the ship and drew his sword.

The Raven gave him a questioning look.

‘Go if you need to,’ said Ofaeti, ‘but tell my tale. Say how the brave fatty faced the many at Aldeigjuborg and made a few widows before he died.’

‘Run. We’ll make the shore before they do. You are to tell my tale.’

‘And miss this glory? Find another skald to sing your songs, crow balls.’ Ofaeti grinned and raised his shield. The warriors advanced at the walk. They had cords tied about the soles of their boots and had a good grip on the snow that lay on the river’s ice.

‘They’re coming. Go on.’ The Raven held out his hand across the rail of the ship. Ofaeti took it. ‘Tell my tale,’ he said. Hugin nodded and was gone, a scrap of black fading to grey in the fog.

Ofaeti addressed the druzhina: ‘Now, my ice maidens, which one of you wants to face me in single combat here in the boat? What say you send forward your best man, and if I kill him you send me on my way with a pat on the back?’

Ofaeti forced his grip to relax on his sword. His mind went back to the victory they had won on the boat after the merchant had sacrificed the necklace.

The warriors kept coming, their pace increasing. ‘Come on then! But I warn you — you are many and I am one but I have Loki’s luck!’

The druzhina broke into a charge and Ofaeti prepared himself to die.