"When must you leave?" Her question was interjected with sniffles, and salty tears flowed over her lips. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his shirt. She placed her hand over it, wondering how long she had to feel it throb before he sailed off to find his destiny.
"We have a month to make the journey. I've already given Gunther my word, and he sails today with our news. We go to Denmark first, to meet the main fleet. We will set out in two weeks."
She nodded, and more tears pressed from her closed eyes. He rested his chin atop her head, and squeezed tighter. "I have not forgotten the treasure of my family, Wife. I do this for us. I promise to return by summer, and bring two hundred men at my back to finish off those northern turds. Do not fear."
Runa shivered in the final throes of her sobs. Gunther's men continued to shout and laugh in the distance, and rain began to peck wetness onto her face as a new storm cloud floated overhead. She drew in a deep breath of salt air and the comforting scent of her husband. No matter what he said, she did fear. She feared to the core of her heart.
Gunther's two ships already lurched and rocked on the foamy water of the fjord. Ulfrik faced the huge war leader, hard rocks of the beach poking his feet as if urging him away. Extending an arm to Gunther, the two men clasped arms. A sureness was set in Gunther's good eye, and his rough hand squeezed Ulfrik's forearm.
"Was good to see you again, Ulfrik. I'll carry word to Hrolf, and he will be pleased that you've answered his call."
Gulls screeched overhead as waves broke and hissed behind Gunther. Ulfrik smiled and returned the squeeze. The malty taste of ale guzzled in a final round of good-byes only an hour ago still clung to his mouth. Runa had left him more conflicted on his choice, and words fled him at this parting. He could still choose not to go, even after Gunther departed. No one would seek him out again, and his life would forever be tied to these islands.
Withdrawing his arm, Gunther turned to his men and with a wave of his hand they started boarding his ship. The rest of Ulfrik's hirdmen had escorted their guests to the shore, and now stood in awkward silence behind him. Snorri spoke, filling the unseemly gap.
"We'll meet you in Denmark, no worries for that. But Frankia better be all you've promised."
Gunther put a hand over his gut and bent back in laughter. "I love to tell tales, old friend, but I promise you I've not exaggerated the riches. Christians are strong there, and where their priests go so goes the wealth. We'll peel back their city walls like scales off a salmon, and the flesh inside will be just as delicious. Believe me, even with one eye I can see that much!"
Polite laughter met Gunther's claims, though he doubled over laughing at his own words. The gregariousness of such a fearsome warrior drew a smile to Ulfrik's face, and he shook his head to clear it.
"Fair winds for you, One-Eye. We will drink together in Frankia, atop a pile of gold."
"So we will, and that reminds me." He patted around his waist until he plucked a leather pouch from his belt. "I've been a poor guest. I drank your ale and ate your meat, but brought no gift. I am a shameful man, too focused on this adventure to remember my manners. Take this instead."
He extended the pouch; brown and care-worn, it bulged with sharp points. Ulfrik knew it was packed with hack-silver and probably some gold. Gunther dangled it by its tie.
"I did no more than the honor due you, One-Eye. Such generosity is unnecessary." He spoke the words but his eyes never left the pouch. He needed silver enough to practically taste its metallic tang. The bag twisted in the cold autumn breeze.
"A guest must bring his host a gift, especially when he invites a hundred other friends along."
Jiggling the pouch by the tie, Ulfrik still hesitated. The gift was one more bind to Gunther and Hrolf, one more knot tied in the connection. When he did not grasp it, Gunther seized his limp arm and yanked it out. He crushed the heavy pouch into Ulfrik's palm. Then he folded up Ulfrik's fingers, drawing close enough for his sweaty musk to fill Ulfrik's nose.
"You hesitate when you should not." Gunther's voice was a low grumble. "This is a gift from me, for what I took during my stay. Nothing more. Take what I offer, and use it however you wish. Resupply for the winter; fix your armor; buy women for your crew."
Men nearby laughed at Gunther's final comment as he stepped back. Ulfrik's face heated and he accepted the pouch. He glanced at Snorri and Toki, then to his other men. He glimpsed Runa as a dark shape lingering at the hall behind all of them.
"Your generosity is almost as deep as your stomach. My thanks, One-Eye."
Gunther roared laughter again, then turned to join his men as they pushed his ship out to sea. His hair flowed over the gray wolf pelt draping his shoulders as he trudged into the surf. Men helped him aboard, and he returned to the rails to shout over the breaking waves.
"We meet one month hence. Toki knows the way. Gods keep your hall safe."
Ulfrik raised his fist, and Gunther returned the sign of strength. He and his men watched the three ships gather and then steer east out of the fjord for the open sea. His own ships would soon follow the same path.
"You won't break your word," Toki's statement sounded like a question to Ulfrik.
"Of course not. The gods are with us. We will return before summer, our hulls brimming with treasure."
Gunther's ships faded to smudges in the misty horizon. Ulfrik turned to regard his crew, but everyone had drifted back toward the hall leaving him alone at the edge of the surf.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rain battered Thrand's house, and distant thunder rattled the walls. Water spattered onto the floor and furniture from a dozen spots in the roof. The smoke hole cover sagged with gathering water, and a constant stream splashed into a bucket beneath it. The rainwater intensified the rank scent of the sheep packed inside the home. Thrand shouted at their constant bleating, and they clustered tightly at the center of the room. He had been watching the door, listening to the rain, and drinking sour ale from his horn. Finally, it broke open and Kolbyr tumbled in.
The sheep spun in a circle, startled at the sudden entrance. Kolbyr huddled under a sealskin cloak, and as he tore it away gouts of rainwater dumped to the floor. Thrand laughed at his bedraggled friend.
"You look like a drowned cat."
"Where do these storms come from?" Kolbyr plopped his cloak over an empty stool, then wiped the water out of his face. "The night looked clear enough when I set out for your house."
"Live here a while and you'll learn how fast storms appear. The gods hate this place, Kolbyr, and whenever they notice it they lash it with rain and lightning. Now, warm yourself with good ale." Thrand trained his clear eye on Kolbyr. The ale was the worst he had tasted in years, but he filled a mug for his guest and smacked his lips. "We've got much to discuss tonight, my only friend in this world."
Kolbyr settled onto his stool, the oil lamp between them painted deep shadows into his face. He accepted the mug and tipped it into his mouth. He pulled it away with a grimace and swallowed hard. "Is it sheep piss?"
"It'd taste better if it was, but it's not. Now drink up. We have to be quick."
"You've got a woman sneaking out here in the rain, do you?"
"With your pretty face, you'd be good enough. Now are you ready to listen or do you have more shit to drop from that hole under your nose?"
Kolbyr flung his full mug onto Thrand's bed in the corner, then sneered at him. "Sleep in your sheep piss, if you love it so much. Now what have you called me out here to discuss?"
Thrand dropped his head and scratched his scalp, fighting the urge to strike back at Kolbyr. Yet he needed help, and no one besides Kolbyr could offer it.