Ship of the Dead (6 page)

The largest of the draugr warriors, wearing a tarnished bronze helmet topped with the figure of an eagle's head, stepped forward and thrust his sword in the air, quieting the chorus of war cries. Grelf suspected this was the undeads' chieftain, since it was apparent that his helmet and armor had once been of superior workmanship.

“Who dares attack my ship?” the chieftain bellowed.

Thidrek regarded the fearsome creature with his usual haughty air. “I am Lord Thidrek the Terrifying. You will address me as such.”

“Well,
Lord
Thidrek,” the chieftain said mockingly, “if you are here to fight, bring your men and they shall die.”

Thidrek reached behind him and pulled the quivering Grelf into view. “He's not much of a man, but here he is.”

“
That's
what you bring to fight me?” the chieftain roared.

“I'm not here to fight,” Thidrek said, “but to make an offer.”

“You will offer me blood,” the chieftain growled. He grabbed a spear from a draugr warrior and let it fly at Thidrek's chest. It passed straight through him without leaving a mark, as if Thidrek's flesh were but misty illusion. The chieftain and his warriors gaped in surprise.

“You fool, can't you see I am of your ilk?” Thidrek said.

The chieftain squinted at Thidrek, sniffing the air. “You don't smell like the undead.”

Thidrek patted Grelf's head. “Courtesy of my bootlick and perfumer extraordinaire. What name did we arrive at for your concoction, Grelfie?”

“My lord, we were down to either ‘eau de living' or ‘rot-not.'”

“Hah!” the chieftain spat. “We are warriors and care not if our odor offends. State your business, one known as Thidrek.”

“I represent the goddess Hel,” Thidrek announced. “Her orders are that we sail this ship to the underworld. There, the horn that awoke you will summon Hel's army.”

The chieftain pondered this, rubbing his exposed chin bone in interest. “For what purpose do we raise the army?”

“What else?” Thidrek sniffed. “So that I may command it to conquer the land of the living.”

“So that
you
may command?” roared the chieftain. “This is my ship! I am commander of it!”

“And the goddess Hel commands
you
to turn this ship over to
m
e!” Thidrek roared back.

“Well, I don't think so,” said the chieftain, crossing his arms on his chest.

“You dare defy the goddess?”

“I don't hand my command to the first undead lord who happens by.” The chieftain smirked. “If you even
are
a lord. Bring me Hel's orders in writing—
on
her official stationery
and
affixed with her personal seal—perhaps then I'll think about it.”

Grelf squelched a cheer. His festering lordship's plan was hitting a brick wall!

Thidrek's eyes bulged in rage. “Has the rot eaten your brain? Hel does not issue commands like a lowly village functionary. She is the patron goddess of all that is evil!”

The chieftain was not budging. Feet firmly planted, arms still crossed across his chest, he replied, “I am aware of Hel's evil omnipotence. Which makes me doubt she would send a blustering blowhard as her envoy.”

This brought snickers from the chieftain's troops. Thidrek, who like all despots hated ridicule above all, glared at them. “You dare to laugh at me? You—who burrow like worms in the ground? Your shields and weapons are as decayed as your valor. I offer you new life! As my liege men you will sail to glory once more. You will have strong shields and weapons of hard steel. You will know again what it is to be brave and feared—for you will cut a wide swath through the living and eat their flesh and drink their blood to your everlasting content!”

To Grelf's fear it appeared that Thidrek's rousing call to arms had piqued the warriors' interest. But he wasn't sure, since it's hard to read the expression of someone whose face is pretty much rotted away.

“You waste your words,” the draugr chief barked. “My warriors are bound to me—and I am bound to no one. Go now before I lose patience.” The chieftain ordered his warriors back to their graves. As they had sprung from the sand, they all dived back in as if the ground were water. Soon all had disappeared beneath the surface.

“Well, I guess that's that, my lord,” Grelf chirped. “You tried your best, you really did, but perhaps this whole raise-an-army-of-the-dead thing wasn't meant to be.”

“I never had trouble enlisting henchmen before,” Thidrek said in contemplation. “Why, every cutthroat and brigand in the land was more than eager to serve Lord Thidrek the Terrifying. Have I lost my touch?”

“Perish the thought, my lord! You are as terrifying as ever—now even more so in your, um, draugr personage.”

“Then why would they rather return to their graves than serve me?”

“The reason for that, my lord, is summed up in one word. Leverage. Before, you had gold to pay men.
And
you had the threat of death over them if they failed to perform to their ruthless best.”

“Of course, the undead have less desire for riches. And since they're not living—”

“You have no leverage over their souls,” Grelf said.

“You have summed up the problem quite nicely, my friend,” Thidrek said, placing his hand on Grelf's shoulder. “What would I ever do without you?”

“You are most kind, my lord.”
Now go lie in a ditch. I'll cover you with dirt and be on my way.

“In all the years you have served me, do you know what I appreciate most about you, Grelf? When times are at their toughest, you always show me how to find the light behind the darkest cloud.”

“Light, sire?”

“You know—the times I wanted to give up, but you always managed to talk me out of it?”

“Uh . . . I don't think this is one of those times. In fact, I'm sure of it.”

“You're . . . sure of it?” Thidrek's grip tightened on Grelf's shoulder blade, bony fingers digging deeper into his flesh, and Grelf felt the hot gush of his blood under his shirt.

“My lord—please! What are you doing?” Grelf wailed.

“Applying leverage, my dear man. We
will
find a way to prevail, won't we?”

“Yes!” Grelf cried through the excruciating pain. “We will prevail, my liege!”

Thidrek released him and the whimpering Grelf fell to the ground. “I'm so grateful for your support, Grelfie. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Chapter 7
A Young Stranger

R
unning alongside the rain-swollen creek, Dane heard Klint, his raven, call to him as the bird flew overhead, searching for any traces of Lut. Dane knew the plateau was soon to end, plunging to the valley floor—which meant that if they didn't find Lut soon, chances were he had been swept over.

He heard a loud
crawk!
ahead and rushed forward. The rain had stopped and a trace of moonlight shone through the thinning clouds. There! Just before the plateau ended he spotted Lut the Bent lying still, Klint hopping up and down on a rock beside the body. “He's here!” Dane called to the others, who were on foot behind him upstream. Dane scrambled over the rocks to where Lut lay motionless, his body so thin and frail he looked like little more than a pile of wet rags. Fearing him dead, Dane drew near and tentatively touched Lut's cheek. It was warm! “He's alive!” he cried.

Lut snapped open his watery blue eyes and scowled at Dane as if he'd been awakened from a blissful dream. “What're you doing in my hut?”

“You're not exactly in your hut, Lut.”

The old man raised his head and saw his predicament. “I was dreaming that my roof was leaking.” Drott and Fulnir arrived in a rush, happy to see Lut among the living.

“Really cut it close, Lut,” said Drott. “Another blink and you'd have gone over.”

“It was Death who blinked,” Lut croaked as Fulnir and Drott helped him up. “Just when he was cocksure he had me, I slipped from his grasp like a wise old trout.”

“Good we still have your wisdom to guide us. It seems to be in short supply.” As Fulnir said this, Dane caught a sharp look from him. Fulnir and Drott took Lut away and Dane did not move to help. It was clear they did not want his assistance and blamed him for everything that had gone wrong.

The storm having now passed and the skies cleared, a bright moon lit the way as they rejoined the others and continued down the main trail across the plateau. Dane rode in the lead, feeling the growing animosity at his back. The notion of apologizing to them crept into his thoughts. Perhaps he
was
wrong about pressing on across the plateau. But then again, was it really his fault they had been caught in the storm?

Was their faith so thin that one mishap had turned them against him? Had they forgotten all the previous times Dane had led them successfully through all manner of danger? What should he do? Take a vote every time a difficult decision had to be made? If so, they'd
never
get to Déttmárr's. It was
they
who should apologize, Dane realized. Would their whining help them reach the old smith any quicker with the apple? No! If there was hardship along the way, so be it. Bringing Astrid back was worth any suffering.

The trail descended gently into a valley, and they found a cave where they could shelter for the remainder of the night. After feeding and watering the horses, Drott and William picketed them inside the cave to keep them safe from roving bears and wolves. Jarl built a healthy fire and they all hung their wet clothes to dry on ropes above it. Fulnir passed out portions of dried fish, flatbread, and hard cheese, and the weary travelers sat by the fire eating in grim silence, the air thick with unspoken recriminations.

Dane was off by himself, brooding, wishing someone would start in with accusations about his poor leadership. Then he would show them. He would tell them they could all go spit in their hats and that he would take the golden apple and find Déttmárr on his own. One man could move faster than a group anyway. If they wanted to rest their backsides for a couple of days, then
fine
, they could catch up with him later.

But no one said a word to him, all acting as if he weren't even there. Dane finally gave up waiting for their criticism, took his blankets, and found a place to bed down. When they awoke, he wouldn't be here, he vowed. He'd be far away with no one to worry about but himself. The last things he heard before slipping off to sleep were the faint little mouse farts that Fulnir often made while lying in his bedroll, and Dane was quick to add these to his growing list of things he wouldn't miss.

When Dane awoke later, the others were still snoring away in their blankets, all fast asleep. From the dying embers of the fire, he judged it was perhaps an hour before dawn. He quietly gathered his dried clothes and blankets and stuffed them into his pack. Carrying pack and saddle, he led his bridled horse out of the cave. As Dane saddled his mount under the cold night sky, the horse became suddenly skittish, snorting and pricking its ears as if catching the scent of carnivores. Dane's hand went to the handle of his sword, and then he heard her voice.

“Will you never stop?” Dane whirled and saw Astrid upon her celestial mount descending from above. As soon as the horse's hooves touched ground, Astrid leaped off and stood before Dane, hands on hips, looking very put out. “Can you go
one
week without risking your life or someone else's? Lut almost died!”

“So you've been watching us,” Dane said with a grin. “You just can't keep away, can you?”

Her lips pursed in dismay. “What lame scheme are you up to now?”

“It's not
my
scheme, it's Skuld's,” Dane said, and he proceeded to tell her the whole story of why they were traveling to Déttmárr's with one of Idunn's apples, and how, once revived, the smith would make a special blade, and lastly, how Dane would use it to kill the draugr Thidrek and thereupon release Astrid from her oath to Odin. Fully expecting Astrid to be so overjoyed by the prospect of rejoining him that she'd leap ecstatically into his arms and cover him with kisses, he was therefore startled to find her staring at him with cold fury.

“I thought I had made it clear to you. I don't want you to risk lives for my sake. Take everyone and go home.”

“Home? I have no home if you're not there.”

“Oh, stop,” she said. “You still think I
want
to return? I don't. I like being a Valkyrie—I like everything about it. I have shared drink with the gods, have seen places your narrow, boyish mind couldn't even imagine. Do you think I'd be satisfied now with a boring life in Voldarstad with you?” And then she laughed—
laughed!—
at his shocked expression of hurt.

“You're not Astrid. Astrid wouldn't say those things!”

Her face hardened. “You're right, Dane. I am no longer the girl you knew. When will you get that through your thick head?”

Dane lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “Is it you, Skuld? Come to test me again?” Astrid threw off Dane's grasp with such force that he flew backward and landed in the dirt. For a moment he lay there and saw that her hard, mocking expression had changed to one of surprise, as if she too were appalled by her sudden violence against him.

Her hand clutched the Thor's Hammer locket at her neck and ripped the chain free, letting it fall to the ground. “It is over between us,” she said tonelessly, “now and forever.” She leaped onto her horse and took to the skies. With an overpowering sadness he watched her until her image vanished among the stars.

Next thing he knew, someone was shaking him awake. Dane's eyes snapped open, and he saw before him a very worried-looking William the Brave. “It's Lut!” the boy whispered. “He's gone!” Dane sat up in his bedroll, gathering his senses. The cave was lit with the first rays of morning, and everyone save for William and Lut was still warm in their blankets. Dane realized with welcome relief that the vivid scene with Astrid had merely been a dream. “Dane! We have to find Lut. He went out to pee hours ago.”

“Old men take a long time to empty.”

“Not
this
long. I think something's happened.”

“All right, all right,” Dane said gruffly. He pulled on his boots and strapped on his sword, wondering what kind of new fix Lut had gotten himself into. He knew that the old man was too frail for such an arduous journey and never should have come along. He was like a small child now who had to be watched constantly.

Soon they were outside the cave gazing in all directions and calling his name. This brought Fulnir and Drott outside, and William told them Lut was missing.

“Probably went out to relieve himself and saw an interesting butterfly to chase,” Dane said mildly, downplaying the matter. “You know how his mind wanders.”

“He has bad pain in his chest,” Fulnir said. “I saw him take a potion of willow powder for it.”

“Pain?” Dane asked, now worried. “Why didn't you tell me of it?”

“Would you have cared?” replied Fulnir.

They glared at one another until William broke in. “Last night, after we found him—he said he was tired of being a burden to us. Tired of being old. You don't suppose he went off to—”

“Lut wouldn't do that,” Dane said. But he wasn't at all convinced this was true, for the old one's thoughts were a mystery of late. Jarl appeared from the cave, and everyone split up to search for him. Dane went north, plunging into thick woods, loudly calling his name. He heard the others call too as they spread out in different directions, expecting any moment to hear a cheerful shout that Lut had been found safe and sound. However, as time wore on, no such thing was heard, and the deeper Dane went into the woods, the more he feared that the old one had met a horrible end, self-inflicted or otherwise.

He remembered the many times he had visited Lut's hut to ask for advice or just to hear him tell amusing stories of his distant youth. When Dane had lost his father at Thidrek's murderous hands, it had been Lut's wisdom and understanding that had helped guide Dane toward manhood. Now, realizing Lut might be gone, Dane was ashamed he had taken the kindly old sage's presence for granted, as if it would always be there.

Seeing it was now full daylight, he again stopped to listen, hoping for a sign that Lut had been found. But the twittering birdsong and the rush of wind in the pines were all that came to his ears. He walked on—then froze of a sudden to the spot. Some distance away a figure with a hooded cloak had appeared through the trees, kneeling on the bank of a small pond. He or she—Dane was too far away to tell—seemed to be staring intently down into the water.

Drawing nearer, Dane came close enough to recognize the garb. It was Lut's! But as Dane began to rush forward to greet his friend, the figure raised his head and threw back his hood, and Dane saw that it wasn't an old man at all but instead a very young one with a full head of jet-black hair. Dane's footstep cracked a twig, but as the man's head jerked round to look, Dane darted behind a tree to hide. A few moments later he peeked out to see that the man had turned away once more and was looking into the water again. The hairs rising on his neck, Dane pulled his sword from its sheath as quietly as he could. Whoever this interloper was, Dane was determined to learn what he had done to Lut.

But what if the stranger was not alone?

What if Lut had stumbled onto a gang of thieves? They would certainly know that an old man would not be in the wilds alone. Perhaps they had waylaid him, meaning to ransom him back to his compatriots. Or worse—they were planning a sneak attack on the cave, which would be easy since everyone was spread out in the countryside looking for Lut. The thieves would take everything, including the horses.

Dane decided his best strategy lay in surprise. Once he was close enough, he would make his move and cut the man down at the water's edge. His gang would be camped near the water too. If Dane was lucky, he could kill one or two more and get away with Lut. If he found Lut already dead, then he would kill them all. It was risky, and, yes, a tad foolhardy, but this being his best option, he had to take it.

Sword in hand, he crept from tree to tree toward the kneeling man. He stopped to sniff the air. He detected no scent of campfire smoke, heard no other voices. This was strange. Was the man really alone? And why was he gazing so intently into the water as if possessed by his own image? Moving closer still, Dane saw the gleam of a newly sharpened knife lying on the ground within the man's reach, a knife he was sure was Lut's. Dane drew in a deep breath—

—and rushed, sword high. Lightning fast, the stranger grabbed the knife and whirled, his cloak flying up into Dane's face. Dane hacked down, but up came the knife, blocking the blade. Dane slashed with his sword. The man whipped the cloak up again, twisting the cloth around the blade. The man grabbed the sword blade—now wrapped in fabric—and kicked Dane in the groin. Doubled over in pain, Dane instantly lost his grip on the sword handle and fell backward, splashing into the water. He lay like a stunned fish under the surface, looking up through the water at the rippling image of the man on the bank. The man's hand came down at him and Dane knew it held the knife. But he felt the hand grab his shirtfront and pull him up out of the water. He lay facedown on the bank, coughing and cradling his wounded privates.

“Sorry I had to kick you,” Dane heard the man say.

Once he was through coughing, Dane said, “What have you done to him?”

“Who?”

“You know who! You have his knife and cloak.”

“Ah. The old man. I have done away with him.”

Dane saw his sword lying within reach. Despite his pain he made a grab for it, but the man's boot stepped on the blade, pinning it. “I have done a bad thing,” the man said, sounding ashamed.

“You've killed my friend and I'm going to kill you!”

“Look at me, Dane.” Bent on destroying the man, Dane struggled to pull his sword from under the man's boot but to no avail. “I said
look at me.
” Dane angrily lifted his gaze and for the first time took in the young man's face. There was great strength there, a hint of humor, but certainly no cruelty. Far from it. The eyes were a sparkling blue, filled with wisdom and compassion.