Raven of the Waves by Michael Cadnum Page B

gaining speed.
    Surely this settlement was alarmed, Lidsmod thought, surely there would be men rallying to protect it. The men from Spjothof would slaughter them all. They ran recklessly now, and this was dangerous because some, such as Ulf and Trygg, were bad runners—strong oarsmen, thick-necked and deep-chested, but heavy-footed.
    A man in ugly, shaggy wool clothing stood surrounded by ducks and duck-soiled mud. The man raised a cry, and Gunnar gestured. A man from Landwaster cut at the man, knocking him down, then laid about him, scattering duck feathers.
    A town beyond leafless trees: roofs and a half-built tower and a gold fortress, surely that’s what it was. They did not even have to enter the town to find the gold! This was indeed a great gift, thought Lidsmod. And the little town itself, with its mud-yellow walls and its far-off timbered hall, did not look so poor. There would be gold in some of these dwellings. A rooster stretched his neck, his red plume arched like a scythe.
    They were a surf of men, like a battle force in a saga, a sword tide.
    A boy ran toward them, hurrying to reach the refuge of these stone buildings. Lidsmod recognized the shepherd with the withered arm. The youth twisted in his stride and hurried into the gold fortress.
    The rooster fled, a single, copper-bright feather floating in the air. Workmen stood at the base of the stonework; one held a hammer. They wore the plain gray tunics of thralls. One or two of them might have made good slaves. These were not weak men, but they had stupid looks of amazement. One man did, in fact, wield a hammer. It was a wooden maul, though, not a mighty Thor hammer, and Gorm and Ulf made quick work of the laborers before they could rally.
    Blood winged into the air, and swords made the squeal of steel cutting bone. As the stoneworkers began to fight back, hammers fumbled for and found, feet slopped in scarlet mud. One worker banged a steel rod off Ulf’s sword and then ran. He easily outsprinted the heavier swordsmen, but this caused great laughter among the men from Spjothof. Battle was not a foot race!
    Gunnar directed men to watch the exits of the gold fortress, lest men try to flee with gold. But above all, he directed them to watch for a counterattack. Lidsmod had heard the battle tales. Too many wise, stalwart men had died from a spear in the back. Even the men of Spjothof would kill a man from behind—it was so much easier. And so in this land of weak men, treachery was expected.
    The men of Spjothof surrounded the corpses of the workingmen, stabbing the bodies experimentally, and to give steel its blood taste. Lidsmod hacked at a leg, a hairy, sweat-gleaming limb. His small ax bit the flesh and left a red slice.
    Then they spread out as Gunnar directed. The door to the gold fortress was blocked, but Ulf kicked it easily aside. Would the fighting men of this country ever show their faces? Lidsmod joined a small group that entered the gold refuge.
    It was nearly dark inside, with a sweet, perfumed smoke in the air. Men sometimes hid in a dark place like this, and then speared the intruders. It was a stupid way to fight, but a trapped stoat fought this way—and was often very difficult to kill, as Lidsmod knew from hunts with his boyhood friends.
    Gorm wrenched open a shuttered window. Daylight fanned into the hall and ignited gold on a table at the hall’s end. One of the men picked up a bench and splintered it against a wall. There were other benches, and these were splintered too.
    Gunnar directed a guard to the side door. A counterattack was always most deadly at a time like this, when men were gold-stunned. Because, without question, Odin had guided them to treasure.

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    Gorm hefted a large gold object shaped like a sword hilt. It was a curious object, and Lidsmod did not like to see Gorm handling it so roughly; it could be dwarf craft and have some unknowable power. Gorm bit into it. He gave Lidsmod a smile. “Gold, pure