Runestone by Don Coldsmith

His temper flared.
    By God, well see about that!
he told himself.
    It was perhaps fortunate that Odin had disappeared, because before he returned Nil’s temper had cooled. When he took time to think, he realized that any slim chance of survival was totally dependent on the cleverness of this savage.
    Time passed, and Odin did not return, Nils waited uneasily. Could it be that the Skraeling had abandoned them, to go off on his own? Or even worse…anger rose in him as the thought occurred. Would Odin betray them to the enemy to save his own worthless skin? It was possible. He fretted, pacing a few steps back and forth in the darkness.
    When the drums started, it seemed to worsen their whole predicament even more. A dull throbbing, heard in the distance, like a barely perceived heartbeat. More accurately,
felt
rather than heard. It seemed to Nils that the throb was that of the earth itself, and it prepared to disintegrate under him. Then, with the beat of a humming sensation, rising and falling with the rhythm of the cadence. A chant or song, he realized. A celebration of victory. Or of defeat … he had never fully realized that before. When one side wins, another loses. Norsemen were not accustomed to defeat.
    He glanced at the sky, at the position of the seven stars of the Great Dipper, wheeling their slow circle around the NorthStar. Come morning, he must have some decisions ready. He and Svenson might not even have a boat available to them, if the Skraeling did not return. Maybe they could make their way down the fjord on foot. It would be difficult, but he saw no other way, unless they could steal a boat from one of the villages downstream as they traveled. Even then, these native boats seemed so tricky to handle. …The entire situation seemed hopeless.
    Suddenly, a shadowy figure materialized beside him. Nils jumped.
    “Odin!” he whispered, startled. “What—”
    “Ssh!” the quiet warning came in reply. “I have been to see … I will tell you.”
    The three sat close together while Odin told his story. He had crossed the river and observed the activities of the Skraelings.
    “They sing, dance,” he said. “For them, a great victory.”
    “Did you see any of our Norsemen?” asked Nils.
    The Skraeling shook his head. “No. I am made to think they are dead.”
    Nil’s heart sank, even though he already knew. He wished he could have helped.
    “And the ship? The other one?”
    He knew the answer to that, too, but had to ask.
    “Burned and sunk,” said Odin simply.
    “What now?” asked Svenson.
    “We try to get home,” Nils answered, as confidently as he could. He realized that they could do nothing for the others now. “Odin, can you take us back to Straumfjord in the boat?”
    “Maybe. Not now.”
    “What? What do you mean?”
    “The Skraelings, there.” He pointed. “We have to wait till they leave.”
    “But, can we not bring the boat around on this side? At night? We could slip past them and back toward the sea before they know.”
    “No. This path is not as good. We could not see well enough at night. In the day, they would see
us
. We wait.”
    Again, Nils experienced the flash of anger that his decisionswere being made for him by this savage. But he had no choice. It was infuriating that the Skraeling was right, and that Nils could not argue with his logic.
    “When will they leave?”
    The Skraeling gave his characteristic little shrug, dimly seen in the starlight.
    “Maybe today. Maybe two.”
    “We will need food and weapons,” Nils observed.
    They were poorly equipped, because when they left the main party their only purpose had been to fire the funeral ship and rejoin the others. Nils tried to remember … he had entrusted his sword to one of the other men, and had only his belt knife. Svenson, too, was unarmed, except for his knife, and Odin kept a blade at his waist. It took no stretch of imagination to realize that they were in desperate straits for such simple tasks as