Dawn of the Ragnarok: Book 9 in the Viking Blood and Blade Saga by Peter Gibbons

Author:Peter Gibbons [Gibbons, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

The wind whipped Einar’s hair away from his face, and he peered southwards into the sea spray as breakers smashed against the Wave Crow’s hull to send salty spume down the deck. He sailed on Rognvald’s ship, on board to talk to the Jarl of Rogaland about their plan to find the king. The fleet spread out behind them in a wide V shape, with the Wave Crow at its tip. Twenty warships flanked Rognvald drakkar, spaced just far enough apart to keep the ship ahead in sight but at the edge of their vision. This formation allowed the fleet to survey miles around, stretching across seven horizons as they sped southward before a brisk wind. They rounded the Skagerrak into the Kattegat Strait, ever vigilant. Whenever a ship in the flotilla spied another vessel, they would sound two blasts on a war horn to confirm the ship was no threat and three if danger loomed.

The Wave Crow cruised past a dozen merchant ships on a morning when a grey sky threatened a storm, but the thunder god kept his anger at bay. It was afternoon when one of Hooknose Gizurr’s ships sounded three horn blasts. Rognvald ordered the crew to ease the sail and slow the Wave Crow down. Einar moved out of the way, stepping carefully around the ship’s keel hull timbers to join Rognvald at the steerboard. A man with a face as weathered by wind and sea as Einar’s held the tiller, and Rognvald ordered him to come alongside Gizurr’s drakkar.

“We are close to where the trader said we would find the Bardarborg,” Rognvald said after greeting Einar by clasping his forearm. “So we should join up with the king and Hundr today.”

“Perhaps they are still with Vigfus at his fortress,” Einar replied, hoping that was true.

“Aye, feasting and drinking whilst we get drenched with seawater.” Rognvald frowned at his sopping-wet tunic. Its fine wool with tassels at the neck had become strained with rings of salt where the sea spray had dried in, only to be soaked again.

“I see them, my lord,” Asbjorn called from where he had climbed up the mast and now leaned out with one hand on the halyard rope, peering into the distance.

“Them?” asked Einar.

“I can see eight ships, my lord. But I can’t see what banner they fly.”

The Wave Crow came alongside Gizurr’s ship, the Narwhal, and the stocky jarl leaned over the port side.

“Eight warships, rowing towards us!” he shouted across the waves.

“What banner?” Rognvald called back with a hand cupped around his mouth.

“We can’t see yet, but they have only seen a few of our ships, the ones closest to me. They haven’t seen the rest.”

“Let’s give them a surprise then,” Einar said to Rognvald. “We have them. They won’t want a fight when they see we have twenty ships. Sea fighting is a messy business at the best of times. They’ll turn and run.”

“We don’t know if it’s Vigfus; it could be any Danish lord,” Rognvald replied. “These are the busiest waters in the north, the gateway to all Midgard.

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