The larger, older vessels of the allied jarls were clunky and not lining up fast enough. Jarl Sulke’s ships were already boarded. Across the sparkling indigo water, the shouts and clashes of battle came like a wave. Ulfrik urged his men on. Fate’s work would soon be done.
Thirty-four
“We’ve still got arrows,” Yngvar shouted, barely able to finish his words from the exertion of rowing. “We’ve got to get into this fight, Ulfrik, or we’re done for!”
Both the Wave Spear and the Raven’s Talon had low sides-too low, leaving them vulnerable to arrows and to boarding action from the higher-sided ships of the enemy. Ulfrik kept the two ships close together, for support and to discourage boarding attempts. Harald’s forces were preventing them from joining the defensive line formed by King Eirik’s vessels, and already the Wave Spear had been swept off the flanks by a fast-moving ship and a storm of arrows. One of Toki’s crew was already dead and several others injured.
Ulfrik looked out across the fjord. Ships were scattered like seedpods thrown on the water. Everywhere, fights raged on decks. Harald’s magnificent sail billowed as his ship circled the allied line, preparing to hit it at the center. Other vessels were already lashing to the flanks, aiming to board the floating battlefield. If Ulfrik did not commit to the fight now, Harald would pull apart their main force and then prey on the Wave Spear at leisure.
“Toki,” Ulfrik called across the water. “Pull in to those ships on the flanks. Put up oars and pour arrows into them until we’ve nothing left.”
The men rowed and the two ships shot toward the embattled flanks. When he judged the distance close enough, Ulfrik ordered the oars taken in. The boats glided forward, the detritus of battle bumping their hulls as they slowed. Enemy sailors leaped from their ships to mill on the decks of allied vessels, leaving Ulfrik a slim window to put arrows in them before they were lost in the pandemonium onboard. On the prow, men vied to position their shots.
“Don’t make it pretty, just shoot! Fire as fast as you can!” Ulfrik yelled.
Even Runa had found a bow, although she was struggling to draw it. Ulfrik had no time to stop her wasting their arrows. He shot furiously, arrows screaming overhead and disappearing into the water or into the chaos and confusion of the fight. The thrum and swish of constant bow fire was reassuring, but Ulfrik guessed their shooting was ineffective. Regardless, some enemies did fall under the missile fire, and some halted their boarding action, but within moments most of their foe had overrun the other ships, leaving their own lashed and unoccupied.
“Stop!” Ulfrik ordered, setting his mind to capturing the enemy ship before him. Just as he yelled, Runa finally managed to draw back her bow and fire a lone arrow. It made a clumsy arc before splashing into the water, but Ulfrik’s eyes had followed the arrow’s path toward the stern in time to see a high-sided ship slicing for them, spearmen and axmen thronging the forecastle. He had no time to don his mail, or do any more than shout, “Boarders at the stern! Be ready!”
The enemy ship slammed alongside, expertly enough to deliver an unsettling jolt. Long-hafted axes bit into the rails to pull Wave Spear close, and hooked ropes flew out to snare the ships together until one of the crews prevailed. Eager, bloodthirsty men jumped from the enemy ship onto the Wave Spear’s deck. Ulfrik, Yngvar, and the rest of the crew rushed to push them overboard, but the combatant ship’s high sides offered the attackers protection as they boarded.
A wild-eyed man shoved Ulfrik with his shield, following up with a stab. Ulfrik stepped backward with the force, leaving the over-eager assailant exposed. Ulfrik’s blade found soft belly, and the man screamed as he fell. At least these men had also forgone their mail. Looking up, he saw that Yngvar had thrown his shield, instead chopping with his ax as though he were splitting firewood. He had already sent one attacker overboard, and the next took the full force of the ax blade in his leg.
From behind, Toki and his crew roared as they joined the defense. Even without looking, Ulfrik knew that the Raven’s Talon was lashed to his ship and its crew had rushed to his aid. On either side of him, Toki and Snorri flashed their bloody weapons. Pain flowered up his thigh, and he turned to the front again. A foul-smelling, yellow-toothed man had jumped into his path and cut him above the knee. Battle lust deadened the sensation, and Ulfrik swatted at the man with his shield and then took him high in the throat in retaliation.
Everywhere, bodies rolled on the blood-spattered deck, but the battle had turned against the boarders, and Ulfrik knew his men would prevail. He prayed for time to reorganize before other enemies took advantage. The attackers sensed defeat as well, and the few men still aboard the opposing ship were cutting the lashings and using their spears to pry apart the ships. They called for their comrades to return, and some did. Others plunged into the sea to escape. Runa, finding a spear, took aim at the swimming men.
“Forget them!” Ulfrik was already calling in his men, not wanting to waste time in pursuit of the crippled ship. “Don your mail, if you have it. Toss these bodies overboard.” Ulfrik scanned the waters all around. King Harald’s ship was gone, but the defensive line now resembled a straggled dead snake, a cluster of ants crawling all over it. All along the line, boats were lashed together and disgorged enemy troops onto the decks of allied ships. Ulfrik’s ships drifted alone, but for the fleeing attacker that had just pulled away. Corpses and body parts bobbed like jetsam on the waves, some men having hacked off limbs for the gold or silver bands that could be removed from them later. Amid the ruin, Runa sat on a bench, a small smile illuminating her face. Strangely, Ulfrik smiled back. Her calmness made him wonder if he wasn’t acting in haste. Snorri, seated close by, held his head and blood fell from his nose in fat drops. Toki was already overseeing his crew’s return, straddling both ships and waving his bloody sword to direct the men back to the oars. Abandoning the scene, Ulfrik turned to finding his mail hauberk. He feared drowning less than a sword in the guts, and the pain in his leg reminded him that his mail could have prevented the wound. Around him, other men struggled into their armor too, having understood the same thing.
The calm did not last. From the west, aided by the bright sun, another large ship appeared. The dragon prow snarled down and Ulfrik stared at it in shock while his men scrambled and grabbed their bows. Yngvar ran to the rails, in front of the men, his hands outstretched. “It’s Haklang’s ship. Don’t fire!”
Ulfrik recognized it now, the War Dragon. He blinked as sweat rolled into his eyes. Standing with one foot on the rail of the prow, Thor Haklang, clad in bear skin, glowered down at them. Even from a distance Ulfrik could read the frenzied battle madness in the men’s faces. Thor appeared to be trying to push his ship forward, unsatisfied with the speed. The dragon ship pulled alongside, and oars were shipped as it closed. Thor leaned down and growled, “What are you two doing out here? I need you to cover my ship. Keep these shit-eating flies off me so I can get to the real fight!”
Ulfrik nodded acknowledgement to Thor, who was passing around the drink Ulfrik knew the berserkers used to enhance their battle craze. A man thrust the mug back into Thor’s hand, but he did not drink, using the opportunity as his ship slid past, to yell, “King Eirik and the others are all dead. Men are fleeing in every direction. This is my last chance of getting to Harald’s ship and gutting that whoreson in front of his men.”