Blood Will Follow by Snorri Kristjansson Page A

dusk when he neared the camp. There were a handful of travelers, men and women. He took this for a good sign and approached, making sure to show himself.
    “Well met!” he shouted. His voice felt rusty.
    Two of the men rose from the crackling fire and peered out into the darkness. “Well met, stranger,” the shorter one said.
    “I seek shelter and a bit of warmth from your fire,” Audun said. “It’s getting cold out there,” he added lamely.
    “Step closer and give us a look at you,” the shorter one said. Moving into the outer circle of flickering firelight, he showed his empty palms to the two men.
    A brief glance passed between them, and then the shorter one nodded. “Enjoy our fire, stranger. Do you have a name?”
    “Audun . . . Fjölnisson,”
    “Well met, Audun, son of Fjölnir. I am Breki and this is my brother, Bjorn.”
    “Well met, brothers,” Audun said. He could feel the soft touch of the fire on his skin as he came closer.
    “Bjorn will sit the first watch. You’ll sit with him and make sure the fire does not go out.”
    Audun nodded. Twelve men and women sat around the fire; some acknowledged him with a look, others muttered a greeting, yet others did not seem to care. At the far edge of the light he could see four horses grazing, and behind them he could just make out the shape of two carts.
    “Where are you headed?” he asked Bjorn, who turned out to be younger than Audun had thought.
    The tall man stroked his chin, plucking at his poor excuse for a beard. “South, I reckon. You?”
    “Same.”
    The camp lapsed into silence. Breki, older than Bjorn by a good ten years, looked at Audun, then handed him a bite of meat. Audun accepted, wincing in the dark. It felt like a while since he’d last paid his way in the world.
    Slowly but surely, the other campers fell asleep. Bjorn caught Audun’s eye and conveyed with hand gestures that he’d be doing the rounds. His lanky frame became almost invisible once he’d moved from his place near the fire. Audun’s thoughts went unbidden to the start of the journey. Where would Ulfar be now? Doing better than him, that was pretty certain. He wondered whether he’d see the mouthy Swede again. A soft whinny brought him back to the fireside. Bjorn’s outline was just visible as a black form against the dark purple sky and its dusting of white dots. The young man was stroking one of the horses and murmuring in its ear.
    Audun moved his legs and winced. They’d need stretching. As he rose, the horse’s head snapped to attention. It snorted and took two steps backward.
    A sharp, toothy howl cut across the night sky. The horses snorted and stamped. Swearing, Bjorn grabbed the reins of three, but the fourth reared and neighed loudly and took off—but Audun was there in a couple of steps. He grabbed the rough reins and held tight, but the wide-eyed horse was terrified. It reared, bucked, and pulled back—and nothing happened. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Audun or the horse. He’d braced himself for a struggle to subdue the beast like he’d seen tamers do several times, wearing out panic-stricken horses by hanging on to the reins as if their lives depended on it. This time the tugging of the strong draft horse was no stronger than that of a kitten. Underneath his tunic, Audun could feel the heat emanating from his belt buckle. The horse reared again, but with less conviction. After a couple more tries it gave up and resigned itself to its fate. Meanwhile, Bjorn had steadied the others and was muttering to them gently to calm them, flitting between them like a shadow.
    Audun led his runaway over to Bjorn. “Sounded like a wolf, that did,” he muttered to Bjorn.
    “Yeah, though ’tis a bit far south, if you ask me,” he replied.
    “They have to eat, too, I suppose. Maybe the winter is lean up north.”
    “Well,” Bjorn said, “we’ll see if they can chase us across the strait.”
    Overhead a thin green line curved across the