Shardfall, The Shardheld Saga, #1

CHAPTER 10 - NIDROS

The Madgund was a big ship. With her broad beam and her massive mast, she dominated the local boats as would a whale amidst a shoal of minnows. Her Master was big, too, with grizzled hair that touched his shoulders. Gunthram was his name and he was a Gaul, like Walther and the Jarl's wife, but more of a Nord mariner than the Nords. At least those were his words, accompanied by a hearty laugh. 'No Nord has ever out sailed me, nor will they.'

As soon as the procurator had left the ship, the crew shipped the oars, cast off mooring lines and, careful because of the drifting ice, rowed towards the open sea. Once away from the coast, the sail was hoisted, the helmsman turned the prow of the boat southward and they gathered speed.

The weather stayed calm. There was a lot of ice, both bergs and large floes. The sailors spoke of cold so intense that the sea could freeze overnight and crush your timbers. With nervous hands gripping the wooden rail, the young passengers eyed the glinting ice, their ears filled with tales about the many ships lost and crews drowned in these sluggish waters. But nothing happened. 

On the second day they left the embrace of the Long Night. Now the sky was gray, snow-laden, with the Sun so low that she touched the horizon. The five rested a lot, huddled together under the after castle, ate the rations the lady Radgundis had provided and kept to themselves. Birthe spent most of her time with Búi, holding him and singing endless songs. Hraab wandered around the ship, always full of questions that the sailors answered with good cheer.

Kjelle sat cross-legged on the deck, polishing his ax and brooding. His father was dead, his home occupied. He had sworn to revenge himself. But how? The familiar feeling of panic started to paralyze him as he realized how unprepared he was to become Holder. Muus had called him a coward. I'm not a coward, his mind shouted. I just don't know what to do. Muus had been right, when the runt was with him he felt more secure. He stared at his former slave, who sat with his eyes closed on the opposite site of the deck. For years he had hated him. He had hated the way Muus never showed his fear, how he never spoke back or raised his voice in anger as a Nord would do. He had cursed his father for giving him Muus, for rubbing in his contempt for his son by giving him a slave who was so much better at things. But without Muus around, he felt lost. Oh, he could talk the local girls into his bed. And sometimes, he listened when his father spoke with his advisors. Not as often as he'd bluffed to Muus, but he wasn't entirely ignorant. Yet he was hopeless where it counted. He couldn't lead, he couldn't plan and behind his back everybody laughed at him. He cursed softly.

'You're handy with that ax.' Hraab plumped down next to him. The little boy looked at him and in spite of himself, Kjelle smiled.

'I am?'

'Yes. You knocked that hunter of Rannar's out with your ax-handle. That was neat. Could you teach me how to do that?'

Kjelle blinked. Had he done that? The whole fight at Eidungruve was a red haze in his mind. But he did know how to handle weapons. Oskar had seen to that. Oskar, he felt himself go cold thinking of the brute. Cold, cruel and overbearing, the weapon master had been the bane of his childhood. Quickly he pushed the memory away. 'Sure; let's go to the forecastle, I don't want to hit a sailor.' Together, they walked to the small platform on the ship's bow.

'The point is to surprise your enemy,' said Kjelle. 'You can kill your opponent with the edge of your ax, break his skull with the back, or knock him out with the handle. Say you're hacking away at him. All at once you twirl your ax and hit him under the chin with the other end. It surprises the shit out of him. That's one. The other is, you're not striking with the strength of your arm, but with the weight of your weapon plus the swing of your body.'