'By Thor's arse, no!' bawled Kveldulf, turning white and red in turns. 'Did I split my knuckles rowing for this?'
'You were paid,' Dobrynya snapped back at him, 'and will mind your manners. A stake is as easy to find here as in Lord Novgorod the Great.'
I choked Finn's guffaws with an elbow in the gut that left him coughing, for humble silence was best here. Gizur put everyone on the oars and we strained away from the death we were sure had been our lot moments before, rowing hard and hardly able even to believe our luck.
Eventually, much later and reined in like bolted horses, sobbing for breath and lashed with sweat and drool, we all realized that it was real. We had escaped. We would live.
Finn, pewter-eyed and so tired he could not even close his mouth properly, turned to where a wet-eyed Thordis wrapped Crowbone in her cloak. He patted the boy as if he was a particularly clever pup.
'Odin's arse, young Olaf,' he growled admiringly. 'If ever I quarrel with your tales again, simply remind me of this day on the river and my mouth is clamped shut.'
Olaf said nothing, simply gazed back along the river, only his eyes and the top of his blond head visible in the swathe of Thordis's cloak. I whirled, suddenly fearful, but there was nothing; when I turned back, Crowbone forced his chin out from under the cloak folds and smiled thinly.
'The ducks still fly. They fear the wolf.'
By night we had grown dizzy swinging round the narrowing bends of the river, unable to see much on either side through the thick, skeletal white branches of the trees. We did find an ox-bow curve of shingle where we crunched through the thinning ice and unloaded ourselves.
Crowbone's wolf comments had reached all ears by then, but the Oathsworn were defiant now and lit good cooking fires, daring the Night Wolf to come and find us. All the same, as Finn stirred what herbs and spices he had left into the two upturned helmets filled with a savoury stew, I had Toke and Snorri take first watch.
It cheered us all when Thorgunna hirpled, leaning heavily on the arm of Thordis, into the firelight and, wincing, took a cloak-cushioned seat by the fire. She smiled wanly at the smiles around her and accepted a wooden bowl of stew and even managed a few mouthfuls from her own horn spoon.
After a while, as everyone ate and talked quietly, about everything and anything other than where we were, where we were headed and what we would do with all the wealth when we got there, Thorgunna laid down her bowl and turned to me.
'Thank you for bringing Kvasir,' she said. 'Tomorrow, I will surrender my man to the water, to Ran, who surely lives as much in rivers as in the sea. I do not trust those hereabouts to leave him in peace on land and now that I have his eyes back and he is whole for Valholl, I am content.'
When I looked in her dark eyes I saw the opposite of that — saw, too, that it was not for Kvasir but for the almost-bairn kicked out of her.
That night, I raked through the silver hoard while Finn held a torch up and finally found a hinged torc that even Finn whistled at. Twelve ounces if it was any weight at all, solid and carved in little S-curves connected by rosettes, which were fitted with red stones, most them still there. It ended in an intricate lock and Finnlaith swore that it was Irish and he might have had the right of it.
In the morning, with the mist still in tendrils, I placed the torc inside Kvasir's corpse-wrappings and had a fond smile from Thorgunna for it. She took his stiffened fingers and gently trimmed his nails with her little scissors, for it is, well-known that Naglfar, the boat captained by Loki and which carries the giants of Jotunheim against Asgard at the start of Ragnarok, is made from dead men's fingernails. It is right to delay the building of it.
Then she pulled out the bloody little pouch I knew contained his shrivelled eyes and tied it round one wrist, so they would not be lost. We weighted him with stones from the shingle beach and slid him over the side with scarcely a ripple and he sank quickly, while I commended him to the gods and tried not to choke on the loss.
Then, almost before we had shaken ourselves from the dark of it, like dogs losing water from a swim, Crowbone raised his head and pointed one arm.
'The Night Wolf is here.'
He came on loping swift, hoping to take us by surprise — but everyone, in honour of Kvasir, had been armed and mailed, so all I had to do was go to the prow nearest to the black ship that held Kveldulf and, as I had suspected, Lambisson's old crew.
Kveldulf was in the prow roaring them on, his wolf-pelt draped on him, a snarling mask on his head and shoulders while the oars dipped and sprayed. He had too few men to both row and fight and I knew that he would back water soon and let the forward motion of the riverboat carry him crashing into us while his men got their weapons ready. It is what I would have done.
Finn leaped on to the prow alongside me. Fish leaned out from the side, took aim and shot; there was a sharp cry and a rower pitched forward on to the man in front, driven by the smack of the arrow in the back of his head. The oars on that side faltered, the boat slewed sideways and Kveldulf whirled, bellowing with anger and frustration.
'Another good hooking, Fish,' roared Finnlaith, but Fish scowled.
'That cost me dear — that was Milka and he owed me money,' he grumbled.
Kveldulfs ship sorted itself out and Fish fired four of his last five arrows, three of which found targets. He yelled out with each man who fell. 'Leave me behind, would you? Leave me behind. .'
I knew then that Kveldulf had no archers with him and told Fish to stop firing and keep an arrow nocked and in view, so they would not realize we only had one left.
'Good,' growled Finn, bringing his iron nail out of his boot. 'Now it comes to blade edge and arm strength — and we are the Oathsworn.'
This last he roared out and everyone behind clattered their weapons on the bulwarks or on what shields we had. I hefted, my axe and turned, putting my back carelessly to where Kveldulf bellowed and roared his men back to setting his boat prow on to us. It was a spear-throw away, no more.
They looked up at me, even Thorgunna, tucked under my feet which I did not think such a safe place and said so, before turning to those savage grins and reminding them what we were and who we were. Then, just in case any were still afraid of the reputation of the Night Wolf, I reminded them that we had never seen any exploits of his.
'Anyway,' I finished. 'I am Orm, slayer of the White Bear, so a wolf is nothing to me.'
They roared long and loud at that and, when I turned, I saw Kveldulfs men look uneasily, one to the other. Kveldulf, on the other hand, was in the prow, waving a sword and the sight of it made Finn growl, low and hackle-raising.
'Kvasir's sword.'
Once, we had found three north-forged weapons in an Arab pirate hoard. I had kept one and given Finn and Kvasir similar swords, perfect blades, with the story of their making written just below the surface of the metal. Vaegir, they were called — wave swords. Finn had called his The Godi and had it still. I had lost mine long before. Kvasir had died with his in his hand and now we knew who had taken it.
'Take it back,' said a voice and Thorgunna started to scramble weakly out of her shelter under the prow planks.
'Move to the other end,' I ordered her, but then Crowbone shoved between us, as he had once before, and distracted both me and Finn.
'No tales this time, little prince,' Finn declared grimly. 'I do not think the Night Wolf is in the mood to listen.'
Crowbone nodded, but pointed, out into the black ribbon of river and the trails of milk-mist. 'My uncle is coming,' he said.
It was true and everyone saw it. A second black shape creamed round the bend behind Kveldulf, the slap-bang of oars like the feet of a running man. Up in the prow, silver nose flaring bright in the sudden early dawn sun, Sigurd was bawling curses on Kveldulf.