Ulfrik had never navigated those coasts and fjords before. He hoped the fleet would be able to achieve surprise. His ships were small compared to those of the other hersir who served Thor and Kjotve, so they took the flanks and watched for signs of the enemy, or were used to chase down fishermen who might sail ahead to warn of the fleet’s advance. Ulfrik did not mind the menial duty. The real fight would happen on land, where he and his men would have a better chance at glory.
As Ulfrik leaned into the rudder, he considered the strong backs of the men before him, and wondered if he was leading them to their doom. Jarl Kjotve and Thor’s plans seemed too simple to succeed. They planned to sail into Harald’s homeland and destroy the king and his army. Ulfrik had not yet seen the final size of their army, but he wondered if it would be sufficient to overthrow a man who had won power through guile, politics, and conquest. In order for them to win, the gods would need to be on their side. Certainly, both Kjotve and Thor made enough sacrifices of cattle and wealth to buy some attention, but wouldn’t Harald be doing the same? And Harald had far more wealth and fame to offer.
Salty air filled his nose as the wind nudged the ships toward the coast. Ulfrik also doubted his own decisions. Runa had insisted on accompanying him. The men felt having a woman to cook and tend to the wounded was a good idea, and Ulfrik conceded it made sense. But he feared for her safety. She sat quietly on a chest, wrapped in a blanket and smiling with the wind in her face. Maybe she doesn’t understand the uncertainty of the battlefield, he worried. If this adventure fails, she will again become a slave. And I will be dead and unable to save her.
He pushed the thought away and started a song.
***
After several days of sailing, Ulfrik was uneasy about the quality of ships and the men the alliance had assembled. When he said as much to Thor one night, he received a cuff on the head for it. Neither Jarl Kjotve nor Thor wanted to hear of anything besides victory. King Sulke and his brother Sote were of a similar mind, although their ships and men were clearly inferior to the others. At least Eirik’s men appeared competent and their boats in good repair, which gave Ulfrik some confidence as they closed the distance to Trondelag. Yngvar and Toki shared Ulfrik’s view, but all learned not to voice their opinions. “If they keep toasting their future victories every night, we will have nothing left to celebrate when we burn Trondheim,” Yngvar quipped.
The day was bright, and King Eirik’s ship set the pace of the fleet. Ulfrik did not know where they were being led, but Jarl Kjotve had assigned him a man named Ari, who knew the way. Ari was gnarled and stubborn from years at sea, resembling a twisted old root. He did not row, but stayed with Ulfrik to guide him. A command signal was making its way from boat to boat. From Toki, aboard the Raven’s Talon, Ulfrik received the signal to head east.
“Where are we sailing?” Ulfrik asked Ari.
The old man scanned the distant blur of islands, reading them like rune stones. Then he spat overboard and scratched the back of his head. “Looks like Hafrsfjord.”
Ulfrik had not heard of it but trusted it was just one more fjord on the way to Trondelag. He hauled he ship around and the oars dipped and splashed as Wave Spear followed the fleet.
***
“Row harder!” Ulfrik commanded as he steered the ship toward Raven’s Talon. He had not yet seen the enemy ships, being on the far western wing of the fleet, but the frantic orders were clear. Hostile ships had struck from behind an island, catching the rear of the allied eastern flanks. His men were straining to see, and to row, and like Ulfrik they could see nothing from this vantage point.
“What can you see from there?” Yngvar, impatient as always, yelled for Ulfrik to be his eyes. “Raiders, do you think?”
Ulfrik did not hold out the lame hope of a raiding ambush. A fleet of thirty warships, all teeming with men, spears, and bows, would cause pirates to flee, not to attack. Harald’s men had ambushed them. He had no doubt.
The Wave Spear turned and pulled alongside the Raven’s Talon. In a defensive battle, Ulfrik and Toki would each lash their ships to another to make a platform from which to fight. Although Ulfrik had seen it done before, he had never had to do it himself. The boats glided together, the oars drawing in like men pulling their arms into their shirtsleeves. Toki and his crew had already taken up their shields, and a few were slipping on their mail hauberks. They all looked over the starboard rails; Ulfrik followed their gaze.
A fleet of splendid warships materialized like a fist before them. The beast-headed prows caught the sun, shadows filling their open maws. Several ships of the allied fleet had already been captured, and Ulfrik saw the distant shapes of men boarding the unlucky vessels. Those ships and crews were already lost, having been isolated from the main formation. At the center of the enemy fleet was a red-hulled, high-sided ship with a mass of oars. It streamed towards them, as graceful and predatory as a crane hunting in the water. Its sail filled, adding to its speed and revealing the great raven of High King Harald Finehair. The king himself had come to battle. Ulfrik swallowed hard at the sight.
Shouted orders came weak and thin out of the distance. Ulfrik understood, even without hearing the words. Their fleet was already striking sails and beating oars to flee the approaching enemy. Ulfrik shouted for his men to raise the sail and start rowing. “We will form up and make a defensive line to receive the enemy. Now row, you dogs! Your lives depend on it.”
The men had started the tasks before Ulfrik had finished commanding them. The wind grabbed the square sail and the Wave Spear shot forward. Ulfrik’s smaller, lighter boat would outpace the heavier ships, but the enemy also had their share of pursuit vessels. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Toki guiding his ship just behind. The blocky shapes of enemy sails were not much further away, and he could already hear the distant howls of the closing enemy.
Runa stood in the rear of the ship, gazing over the back as if she were on a pleasure trip. Her thin voice floated up to Ulfrik. “They’ve pulled up their oars.”
Ulfrik looked back again. The ships were even closer than they had been before. He saw a hint of movement, read it instinctively. “Arrows! Arrows!”
The first gray-feathered shaft plunked into the boards between Ulfrik and Runa. He pushed her down against the gunwales. Then all around he heard the thump of arrows. Someone on Toki’s ship screamed, and one of his own men yelped as a shaft nicked his arm.
“Keep rowing,” Ulfrik bellowed. “If anyone stops, I’ll stick him myself.” Ulfrik’s threat was unnecessary; the angry thwack of arrows drove them forward. Ulfrik chanced a look at Toki: he was urging his men on the same way.
Ulfrik wished he could get down and row with the men. The energy of a fight in the offering was building in him, and he ached to take his blade into battle. At least rowing would release the tension. More horns blew and orders rushed from ship to ship. Ulfrik leaned into the rudder, turning the ship suddenly and shouting orders to take in the sail. Two men jumped to the work.
The lighter vessels had shot too far ahead of the jarl’s larger ships. They were being ordered around to join a main line, forming a defensive barrier to those high-sided ships. Ulfrik planned to take his ships to one flank, where he could either lash to the line or seize an opportunity. The ships at the center would be protected from boarding, but they also surrendered their mobility. Ulfrik wanted to ensure his ships, and his men, were able to move-if not to seize an opportunity to attack, then at least to find an escape.