Winterfire

Chapter Seventeen

Lucan

The Fýri landed later that morning. We captives walked beside the Danes across the long beach and up the hill to Sigfred’s great hall, standing alone atop it.  No one but Cormack had seen me take Tyrfing from the chest. I carried it now, concealed beneath my cape. It’s bulk banged against my leg as I walked. I couldn’t believe nobody else noticed it, for I felt so conspicuous.

The Danes were warriors as well as sailors; they all wore their swords. None of the captives, except for me, was armed. We had eaten nothing but dried fish for many weeks. Though we were weak, weary, and unarmed, I’m sure none of the other captives had any sense of danger in the situation. But I noticed the Danes’ hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes, darting suspiciously about, their footsteps, quick and light, and I grew alarmed.  

“My old friend Sigfred will have food and mead for us all!” said Ingmar. “I have not seen him in some time, but surely he has fared better than I in this never-ending winter; Caldbergh is a productive domain. In the years Sigfred and I lived here, the fields of our foster father, Ivar, always produced a surplus of crops. Before the bad weather began, there must have been plenty in storage—enough to last through these dark days.” But as we walked the long trail from the beach to the hall, I saw no signs of prosperity. There was no market offering fruits and vegetables for sale, no chickens, no goats, and no horses. The people in the little town at the base of the hall were thin and bedraggled. They shuffled, if they walked at all. Villagers with dull, lifeless eyes crouched by meager fires and watched us pass.

“We will not find welcome here,” Cormack said. “Keep your hand on Tyrfing.” Keep my hand on Tyrfing? What good would that do? The only knife I’d ever used was the one I’d used to gut fish, and it was considerably smaller than this cursed sword; I was a puppy among wolves.

We found the gates to Sigfred’s hall closed and guarded. Ingmar approached the guards with outstretched hands so they could see he meant no harm. “I am Ingmar Magnusson. I am here to see Sigfred. Please announce my arrival.”

The three guards conferred with each other quietly. “Lord Sigfred is not accepting visitors,” announced one of them.

“I am not just any visitor. He will see me. Go and speak to your lord at once, and I will not tell him of your insolence.”

The guards conferred with each other again, and then one of them shrugged and walked off. “I’m sure there has just been some misunderstanding,” explained Ingmar. “When Sigfred knows the visitor is me, the only brother he’s ever had, he will let us in.”

Cormack and I looked at each other. Cormack nodded slightly, and then the two of us began circulating among the men. Cormack went to the Danes and revealed his hand on the hilt of his sword, meeting the eyes of each man. I went to the captives. I could not show them Tyrfing for fear they would give my secret away, but I whispered to each man, “Stay close to me.” Brother Bede raised his eyebrows, conveying the thought I knew they were all thinking: why would I stay close to you?

Ingmar had not taken his eyes from the gates and did not notice his men spreading out in a half circle behind him.

At last, the guard returned to the gate and began unlocking it. “Drop your weapons, and Lord Sigfred will see you alone!”

Ingmar turned to his men. “There is a saying: From his weapons on the open road, no man should step one pace away. Lucan you will come with me. You have it, I assume?”

“Yes sir, but how did you—”

“Never mind,” interrupted Ingmar. He faced the guards and made a show of unbuckling his sword belt and handing the weapon back to Finn. Then he bent and removed the knife he had strapped to his calf. He tossed it on the ground and spread his cloak wide to show the guards he was unarmed. “This boy will accompany me,” he said. Then Ingmar put his arm protectively around my shoulder and the two of us walked purposefully toward the gates. The guards opened the gates just enough to admit us and then closed and locked them immediately.

“We must search the boy,” said one of the guards.

“I would not do that if I were you. For your own safety, do not remove his cloak.” I wondered what Ingmar was doing. There is nothing he could have said to make them more interested in removing my cloak.

“You,” said the guard, gesturing toward Ingmar with his spear. “Step aside.”

Ingmar sighed heavily and took a step back. The guard used his spear to cut the thong that held my cape with a dramatic flourish. As the cape fell to the ground, the Danes, the captives assembled outside the gate, the guards, and Ingmar all saw the golden hilt of the great sword sheathed at my waist.

“Well, well, well,” said one of the guards. “What have we here? I’m sure Sigfred will be interested in this.” He reached his left hand forward and drew Tyrfing from its sheath. The blade glowed like a sapphire in the pale sunlight. Ingmar grabbed my arm and pulled me back several steps with him. “Watch,” he mouthed silently.

 The guard held Tyrfing up and gazed at it, open-mouthed. One of the other guards came forward.

“Let me see it!” he exclaimed. “I will take it to Sigfred!”

“You?” said the first guard. “Why should you take it? I’m the one who found it. I’ll present it to him.”

“You two will stay here and guard these men!” said the other guard. He leveled his spear at his companion and lunged at him, finding the chain mail’s weak spot and piercing the guard beneath his right arm. The guard dropped the spear he’d been holding with his left hand and lashed out with Tyrfing in his right. I gasped as the guard used Tyrfing to lop the man’s head off as cleanly as my mother snipped flowers. It rolled hideously over and stopped at my feet. While I stared at the head in shock, afraid that I might vomit, Ingmar snatched up the dropped spear and stabbed the guard holding Tyrfing. The guard staggered a few steps and sunk to his knees. He stared at Tyrfing in his hand, as though confused as to how it got there. He looked at his companion’s head, bewildered and horrified, and then he pitched forward, dead. The third guard, watching the proceedings with his spear poised and ready, turned and ran.

“Lucan, collect your sword and cover it,” said Ingmar as he opened the gates and let the rest of his men into the courtyard. I jerked my eyes from the head and quickly recovered Tyrfing. I wiped the blood off on the grass and slid it into the sheath. Cormack came to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, but I was not alright. I thought I might be sick. Cormack took me firmly by both shoulders and put his face close to mine. “Listen to me. That was not your doing, but next time, it may be. You cannot hesitate or show mercy. Tyrfing came to you because you would not abuse its power, not so that you would hide it. Understand?”

“Yes, Cormack. I understand. I just never saw such a sight before, and I was…well, stunned.

“You are bound to see more such sights, and worse. You must never waver. A man does not carry a sword like Tyrfing half-heartedly.”

“I will not waver again,” I said, “But you know yourself I’m no swordsmen.” Cormack just shrugged.

I tried to make my face was calm again, my gaze, unflinching. Cormack was right; I was not a child playing at some game. Tyrfing was a serious, deadly weapon, and I was in an intense, real situation.