Fin Gall by James L. Nelson

longphort skilled with medicine?”
                  The guard frowned. Thorgrim held up the gold coin. The guard’s eyes went a little wide, though he tried to control himself.
                  “This is all I have,” Thorgrim said. “Bring someone who can help my men, and it’s yours.”
                  The guard nodded slowly. “There is someone,” he said.
     
     
                  They came for the leaders before anyone came to help Harald. Later that day the door opened and Thorgrim looked up, hoping to see his guard leading an old crone, her basket of healing herbs on her arm. But instead he saw armed men barging in the door, with spears held ready, and they looked as if healing was the last thing they had in mind.
                  Thorgrim stood as the guards entered. Behind them came a big man, with the presence of command, and Thorgrim guessed this was the Dane, Orm, whom Magnus had mentioned. And behind him stood Magnus himself, and beside Magnus, the fat man whose finger Thorgrim had nearly broken.
                  “Forgive me,” Orm said, arms spread in a magnanimous gesture, “I hope I am not interrupting anything important.”
                  Thorgrim spit on the floor. “More important than talking to the likes of you.” He looked past Orm, past the others, hoping to see some avenue of escape. But there were enough armed men beyond the door to make it impossible.
                  “I imagined you would think so,” Orm said. “But still I must insist we talk.” He turned to the men behind him. “Is this the man?”
                  The fat one, with a smug look on his face, nodded. “Yes, this is the man who was in command of the longship. The one who attacked me.”
                  “Very well,” Orm began but Magnus cut him off.
                  “Wait, my Lord.” He looked Thorgrim in the eye and Thorgrim met his gaze. “This man is not in command. He is second. That man,” Magus pointed to Ornolf, who was slumped on the bench beside the table, “is the jarl Ornolf, and he is in command.”
                  “And you told me Ornolf is an old fool, and this Thorgrim is the clever one,” Orm said.
                  “Exactly,” said Magnus. “And I would rather try to get information from a fool than a clever man.”
                  That seemed to stir Ornolf “Fool?” he roared, getting to his feet. “Give me my sword and we will see who the fool is!”
                  Orm ignored the request. Instead, he nodded toward Ornolf, and the guards grabbed the jarl up by the arms and half pushed and half dragged him toward the door.
                  “I’ll rip your lungs out, all of you, you bastards!” Ornolf shouted as he was taken from the room.
                  Orm stepped up to Thorgrim so their faces were just inches apart. For a moment he said nothing, just seemed to study Thorgrim’s face, and Thorgrim stared back.
                  “We’ll see what your jarl has to say,” Orm said at last, “and then you and I will talk.” He turned and stepped out of the room. One of the guards slammed the door and Thorgrim stood looking at the rough wood.
                  He had not counted on this. He had always imagined they would take him, but they had taken Ornolf instead.
                  What will Ornolf tell them? Thorgrim wondered. Would he tell Orm everything? And if he did, what reason would there be then to let any of them live?
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
     
     
     
     
    Often it’s best
    for the unwise man
    to sit in silence.
                      Hávamál