Emperor’s guard too.”
“Is that so? And when might that have been?”
“I’m not sure. I know he was back before I was born.”
“Well, we could not have known each other, then,” said Rurik, shaking his head. “I saw Miklagard for the first time five summers ago.”
They fell silent for a moment. Gunnar was bitterly disappointed that this new piece of knowledge hadn’t changed things. Rurik stared into the fire, his face closed, the way he looked when a black mood was about to settle on him. Now what? thought Gunnar. How could he build on his revelation, get Rurik to listen to him?
“What’s Miklagard like?” he asked eventually. “Father never talked of it much, except to say the God Houses of the Christians are full of gold.”
“The Greeks call them churches,” muttered Rurik. “And I don’t talk about those days much either. Not even to Thorkel when I’m drunk.”
“Why is that? What happened to you in Miklagard?” Gunnar waited, but Rurik didn’t answer. “What was it you said to me?” Gunnar went on. “Oh yes,
there’s always a story to tell
, so maybe I can guess some of yours. You came here to forget something bad and you punish yourself for ending up as one of Orm’s Hounds. That’s why you have your black moods and get drunk.”
Rurik scowled at him. “Take care, boy. Some men would kill you for speaking to them like that. My moods are not your business, or anyone else’s. And why all this talk of your father? What do you want from me?”
“My freedom. And your help.”
Rurik snorted. “To do what?”
“Avenge my father. He was murdered by raiders.”
“So it seems both our lives are darkened by the shadow of the past. But if you want a man’s help you must tell him the whole story.”
“Then you must tell me yours. That’s only fair.”
“I’ll be the one who decides what’s fair, boy,” said Rurik. “And this is not the moment for me to talk. I will tell you my story only when I am ready.”
Gunnar knew he was beaten, so he plunged into his tale. Rurik sat listening in silence. “I’ll take your word for some of it,” he said when Gunnar had finished. “I’ve seen halls burned, and that part of your story has the feel of truth. But the part about the Valkyries … can you prove you actually saw them?”
Gunnar looked at him, then lowered his gaze. “No, I can’t.”
“At least you’re honest,” said Rurik. “I’ve seen some strange things, but I’ve never seen a Valkyrie, and I’ve fought in my share of battles…”
“So you don’t believe me,” said Gunnar. “I swear it’s all true!”
“That’s not nearly enough, boy.” Rurik stood up, his face closed off once more. “Now, I have a raging thirst I need to quench.”
Gunnar watched his master go, and felt his heart fill with blackness.
E LEVEN
B LADE ON B LADE
W INTER DRAGGED ON , the sea freezing in the harbour, great dirty chunks of ice clunking against the thick pilings that held up the quayside. The days grew shorter, the nights longer and darker, and Gunnar sank to his lowest ebb.
It was Thorkel who kept him going, Thorkel who sought him out and made him eat and gave him his old sheepskin to wear when the cold bit even more deeply. Gunnar sometimes had the feeling he reminded Thorkel of somebody, and one day when they were in the crowded hall for supper he asked who it might be. Rurik was talking to Orm, Gunnar standing behind Thorkel as he ate.
“I had a son once,” said Thorkel. “A fine boy who would have been about your age by now, had he lived. But he didn’t, and neither did his mother. You’ve lost someone too – I can tell. Who was it? Mother, father? Both?”
“My father.” Gunnar shrugged, unwilling to go into more detail.
“Death casts a shadow over us all,” said Thorkel, spooning up broth from a wooden bowl. “There isn’t a man or woman in here who hasn’t been touched by it, or been its servant. The secret is not to give in to it until
“Is that so? And when might that have been?”
“I’m not sure. I know he was back before I was born.”
“Well, we could not have known each other, then,” said Rurik, shaking his head. “I saw Miklagard for the first time five summers ago.”
They fell silent for a moment. Gunnar was bitterly disappointed that this new piece of knowledge hadn’t changed things. Rurik stared into the fire, his face closed, the way he looked when a black mood was about to settle on him. Now what? thought Gunnar. How could he build on his revelation, get Rurik to listen to him?
“What’s Miklagard like?” he asked eventually. “Father never talked of it much, except to say the God Houses of the Christians are full of gold.”
“The Greeks call them churches,” muttered Rurik. “And I don’t talk about those days much either. Not even to Thorkel when I’m drunk.”
“Why is that? What happened to you in Miklagard?” Gunnar waited, but Rurik didn’t answer. “What was it you said to me?” Gunnar went on. “Oh yes,
there’s always a story to tell
, so maybe I can guess some of yours. You came here to forget something bad and you punish yourself for ending up as one of Orm’s Hounds. That’s why you have your black moods and get drunk.”
Rurik scowled at him. “Take care, boy. Some men would kill you for speaking to them like that. My moods are not your business, or anyone else’s. And why all this talk of your father? What do you want from me?”
“My freedom. And your help.”
Rurik snorted. “To do what?”
“Avenge my father. He was murdered by raiders.”
“So it seems both our lives are darkened by the shadow of the past. But if you want a man’s help you must tell him the whole story.”
“Then you must tell me yours. That’s only fair.”
“I’ll be the one who decides what’s fair, boy,” said Rurik. “And this is not the moment for me to talk. I will tell you my story only when I am ready.”
Gunnar knew he was beaten, so he plunged into his tale. Rurik sat listening in silence. “I’ll take your word for some of it,” he said when Gunnar had finished. “I’ve seen halls burned, and that part of your story has the feel of truth. But the part about the Valkyries … can you prove you actually saw them?”
Gunnar looked at him, then lowered his gaze. “No, I can’t.”
“At least you’re honest,” said Rurik. “I’ve seen some strange things, but I’ve never seen a Valkyrie, and I’ve fought in my share of battles…”
“So you don’t believe me,” said Gunnar. “I swear it’s all true!”
“That’s not nearly enough, boy.” Rurik stood up, his face closed off once more. “Now, I have a raging thirst I need to quench.”
Gunnar watched his master go, and felt his heart fill with blackness.
E LEVEN
B LADE ON B LADE
W INTER DRAGGED ON , the sea freezing in the harbour, great dirty chunks of ice clunking against the thick pilings that held up the quayside. The days grew shorter, the nights longer and darker, and Gunnar sank to his lowest ebb.
It was Thorkel who kept him going, Thorkel who sought him out and made him eat and gave him his old sheepskin to wear when the cold bit even more deeply. Gunnar sometimes had the feeling he reminded Thorkel of somebody, and one day when they were in the crowded hall for supper he asked who it might be. Rurik was talking to Orm, Gunnar standing behind Thorkel as he ate.
“I had a son once,” said Thorkel. “A fine boy who would have been about your age by now, had he lived. But he didn’t, and neither did his mother. You’ve lost someone too – I can tell. Who was it? Mother, father? Both?”
“My father.” Gunnar shrugged, unwilling to go into more detail.
“Death casts a shadow over us all,” said Thorkel, spooning up broth from a wooden bowl. “There isn’t a man or woman in here who hasn’t been touched by it, or been its servant. The secret is not to give in to it until
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