Another storm was brewing, but this one on the deck of Raven's Talon. He again sent his silent prayers to the gods, entreating them to calm this storm as well.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Signals passed from ship to ship as Kjotve revised his heading. The wind that had filled the sails now grew too strong and it lathered the ocean white. Ulfrik had enjoyed the reprieve from rowing. But now he and the other slaves had to slide their oars back into the water. The crack of a lash emphasized the orders, and he needed no more encouragement.
"Black skies and rough seas," Ulfrik muttered to Snorri still seated before him. "Do you think the gods will drown us instead of letting Kjotve row us to death?"
Snorri coughed a laugh. "My arms are going to fall off, and I think my back would feel better on a bed of knives."
A crewman shouted at them to shut up. Thus far Kjotve seemed oblivious to the concentration of Ulfrik's men on his own ship. After sacking Hardar's homeland, Kjotve spent his time singing songs or drinking. He boasted of his victories and his battle prowess. He thought himself invincible.
"Row, you dogs! Stay ahead of the storm," Kjotve hollered from his position at the tiller. His exhortations were unnecessary. One look at the mass of black clouds crawling over the water on legs of lightning and every man pulled hard to flee it.
Still within the Faereyjar Islands, land was not far. Kjotve had sailed north after sacking Hardar. He sold his cargo of sheep to Jarl Hermind the Fat. He traded many slaves, mostly women or girls. Ulfrik remembered the jarl from the festival. He had loved his mead. If Ulfrik ever returned, he swore to drown Hermind in it.
Eventually Kjotve located a beach he favored enough to pull ashore. Because Ulfrik and the other slaves were bound at the feet, they were spared the work of pulling the heavy ships up the shingle. A fat raindrop hit Ulfrik on the nose, and he instinctively drew his cloak tighter.
Once the gangplanks thumped to the ground, men gathered spears and weapons, then ordered all the slaves disembark. Ulfrik assembled with others on the rocky beach. The land was flat and grassy, like every island in the Faereyjar. He hobbled over to Snorri as the crew organized themselves, Kjotve alternately laughing or roaring curses.
"This could be our chance," he said, fighting with the wind to keep his voice low but audible. Snorri squinted at him, and he repeated himself. "The storm would be good cover for a chance at escape."
"Are you expecting Thor to send lightning down on Kjotve?" Snorri shook his head, his gray hair lank and flat. "We're going to pull these ships overland; you know that. We can't stay by the water. Are you planning to carry one of these ships in your free hand while you escape?"
Ulfrik paused and bit his lip. "I suppose that's true. But keep your eyes open for a chance. I might still form a plan. This storm feels like something sent to us by the gods."
"Isn't every storm?"
Ulfrik left Snorri to his defeatist thinking, instead focusing on finding a way to exploit the unexpected storm. If the island were large enough, they could escape overland. It would still be desperate, far from certain, but it would be a chance. Ulfrik lost himself in planning while the storm gathered force.
As expected, they were forced to carry the ships onto higher land. But the storm moved fast and they soon realized that not all six ships could be ported to safety in time. So they carried away their treasures and supplies, abandoning two ships as far up the slope as possible. Ulfrik and his fellow slaves stood in the rain on shore as crewmen scurried around the beached ships and threw over whatever they could find. Ulfrik and another man had to carry a heavy box up the slope.
The storm winds now flattened the grass and rain pelted their faces. Four of the six ships were safely up the slope, and Kjotve pulled his sails over these to make a place for his crew to shelter. The slaves, except for Ingrid, were to fend for themselves in the wind and rain. Lightning burned the sky white and a boom so terrible followed that men cried out. Kjotve hastily ordered a few unlucky spearmen to remain with the slaves, then ducked into the ship.
"This is a bit of bad luck," Snorri screamed over howling wind. "I think we're going to die out here."
But Ulfrik's heart beat with anticipation. Four hapless men were accepting sealskin cloaks from their fellows hiding on the ships. They clung to the hulls and faced their backs to the wind and rain. Four men. At least twenty other slaves, more than half of which were his own crew, clumped close to the ships. He smiled.
"Snorri, the gods do love us."
"What?" The wind drove at them, and voices died beneath its roar.
"We're escaping tonight!"
Snorri hunkered in the grass and jabbed a finger at the sky in frustration. Lightning streaked overhead and Thor's roar nearly flattened them.
People crowded toward the ships to find relief from the wind. Ulfrik watched the guards huddle, oblivious to their approach. The ferocity of the storm threatened to sweep men away, and everyone outside had a single concern to survive the wind and avoid lightning.
Ulfrik crouched and yelled in Snorri's ear. "There are only four of the bastards. They're not even watching us. We kill them and get to the ships left by the shore."
Snorri's eyes widened, and Ulfrik smiled. Then he pulled himself to Ulfrik's ear. "You're fucking crazy. This storm would drive us into the cliffs or swamp us. And we don't have any weapons."
"Of course we do. Look under your feet."
Snorri scrabbled back and looked down. "We're going to choke them with grass?"
"No, you old fool. Rocks. Bash their heads open with rocks. Look!" Ulfrik pried up a fist-sized rock. "Time to crack some hazelnuts."
Ulfrik hefted his muddy rock and smiled as Snorri dug up his own. Ulfrik stooped low against the wind, going from man to man and instructing them to find a rock. He monitored the guards as they huddled against the ship with their backs turned. He crawled closer and waited for his men to join him. He glanced back. Lightning flashed and painted the land white and black. His men inched across the grass like giant snails.
Ulfrik struck in time with the lightning. His rock slammed into the skull of a guard who crumpled as thunder shuddered the earth. One guard turned in time to catch a rock in his face. Two other men beat him down, his howl inaudible over the hiss of wind and rain. Ulfrik fished a knife from the man at his feet. The guard lay face down in muddy water, but Ulfrik took the knife and thrust it into the man's throat for good measure. He did not trust his plan to a rock, but cold iron gave him heart. Then he cut away his bonds.
The other men huddled over dead bodies, stripping them of anything useful. Rain bounced violently off their backs. In moments, eight of his twelve men were armed either with long knives or spears. The other slaves, captives from Hardar and Vermund's lands, hung back. When lightning struck, Ulfrik saw the whites of their terrified eyes.
Snorri scuttled over to Ulfrik. "Now what? We're armed. Do we attack?"
Ulfrik shook his head. "Let's get to the ships. We can be ready to launch once the storm eases up. Kjotve won't come out before then, not in this weather.
As if to emphasize his point, a gust of wind flipped his sodden cloak over his head and caused him to stumble onto Snorri. They laughed a moment, then Ulfrik stood straight above all the others who still hugged the ground. He circled his hand in the air, then pointed toward the shore with his spear. Without delay, he put his head down and ran.
Wind fought him, and more than once he fell into the thick muck. But he reached the two ships, and threw himself against one's hull. Others tumbled after him. He wiped mud and water from his face. The storm had not abated, but he had seen storms like this often enough in these lands. They would rage a few hours then pass. Patience would be repaid with a change of weather.