Twice they passed fishermen out on the blue water in their flimsy craft, who paused over their nets and watched the cavalcade pass, curious. On the fellsides goats and the long-haired sheep lifted their heads and stared unmoving. This was rich pastureland, owned by men who were respected, Wulfgar’s firmest supporters. And it was still midsummer here, the air tinged with the scents of the innumerable flowers, so that the horses waded in clouds of blown seed and spindrift, and the crushed scents of water-mint and warm thyme.
If it could all be this easy, Jessa thought, struggling out of her coat and laying it across the horse in front of her. She laughed at Skapti; daydreaming, he had almost jerked from his horse as it stumbled.
Far ahead Wulfgar rode with Kari. They were talking, close together. Looking back, she saw Brochael joking with the men; they all roared with laughter. Hakon was just behind her.
“He’s telling them horrible stories,” he muttered. “I don’t think you should listen.”
Jessa grinned. “I expect I told him most of them.”
She laughed at his shocked look, then watched a line of swans skitter down on the rippling water. “It’s easy to forget, out here.”
“Forget?”
“Signi. And the rest.”
He nodded, brushing the swinging leaves away from his face. “I can’t understand … how can her soul be gone?”
“Kari says so. He knows about these things.”
“And what’s to stop Gudrun doing that to us—to any of us?”
She looked at him. “Only Kari, I suppose.”
Uneasy, he said, “It makes me feel useless. I’m only a swordsman, not even a very good one. Sorcery makes me shiver. Why did Wulfgar send me?”
For a moment she said nothing. Then she shook her head. “Kari needs us, just as we need him. Maybe more. Wulfgar knows that.” Seeing his worried look, she laughed. “Anyway, maybe the Jarl wanted to get rid of you for a while.”
He laughed with her quietly.
Late in the afternoon, with the long blue twilight barely beginning, the fjord had narrowed to a thin strip of water, the meadows on the other side drawn close. They stayed that night at a hold called Audsstead, the woman Aud riding out with her sons to meet them. Jessa went to bed early, yawning, leaving the talk and laughter in the great hall.
Next day the land began to change. They rode uphill now, and inland. The slopes were steeper, the grass short and sheep-nibbled, studded with boulders that broke the turf as if they were the land’s bones, under its green skin. Here and there the slopes were boggy; the horses’ hooves sank deep into soft peat, masses of lichen and bright moss matting the treacherous ground.
At last they stopped to eat, high above the fjord. Looking down, Jessa thought the sliver of water was a flooded crack in the land, as if the hills floated above reflections of sky and pale, passing clouds.
Brochael nudged her arm. “All well?”
“Just daydreaming.” She snuggled up against him. “How long before we reach the road?”
He shrugged. “We’re on it, Jessa, more or less. Only a path is left here, no masonry. We go over this hill ahead and down into a place called Thorirsdale. Beyond that, in the forest somewhere, the road divides. That’s as far as Wulfgar will come. From then on, we’re on our own.
She was silent for a moment. “Will we get there today?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight we’ll stay at Thorirstead. I know Ulf. He used to beat me at wrestling, when we were boys.”
Amazed, Jessa looked up at him. “You mean he’s bigger than you?”
“He’s a giant. He likes to boast he’s the descendant of those who built the road. I, for one, believe him.”
“I hope not!” Looking around she said, “Where’s Kari?”
“Off with the ravens.”
There was the hint of something odd in his voice but she had no time to pin it down; Wulfgar was telling everyone to mount up. He came and stood looking down at them.
“Comfortable?”
Jessa grinned. “Very.”
He smiled, but briefly, and she knew the thought of Signi was weighing on him, and the dread of what he might find when he went back. She scrambled up, wishing she hadn’t said anything.
“Where’s Kari?” he asked Brochael.
“About.”
“We’d better find him.”
“There’s no need.” Brochael heaved his bag up onto the horse and fiddled with the saddle straps. “He’ll come. He’ll know we’re waiting.”
Wulfgar shook his head as Kari came over the brow of the hill just then and waved at them, the birds wheeling joyously around his head.
“Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything he can’t do.”
“He can’t steal souls,” Brochael muttered. “At least, not yet.”
When they rode over the hilltop they saw before them the green plenty of Thorirsdale, a wide valley, its tiny silver streams gushing down noisily. This end was pastureland, and they could see the smoke from the farmstead rising near the narrow river. Beyond that the land rose again to deep woods, dark against the sky.
As they rose into the valley the light lessened; the shoulders of the hills rose about them. Down here the air was warm and hushed, the last of the evening birdsong fading over the fields. By the time they neared the hold, the purple half-light had begun, and the weak sun was lost behind the hills.
There was a long low building which looked like the farmhouse, roofed in green turf to keep in the warmth. Smoke rose from a hearth hole near its center; Jessa smelled its sharpness. Other buildings clustered around it, barns and byres, all very quiet and dark under the rising moon.
The horses’ hooves crunched down the narrow track.
“Perhaps they’re all asleep,” Jessa said.
“Not Ulf,” Brochael muttered.
A dog barked ahead, then another. After a moment a slot opened in the dark house; light and smoke and cooking smells streamed out. The great bulk of a man clogged the doorway; then he strode out, others behind him.
“Who have I to welcome at this time of night?”
He glanced out at the riders through the eerie night mist, taking them in quickly, their numbers and strength; a tall, heavy man, his hair shaved close, a long sword held easily in his hand.
Wulfgar dismounted. “Me, Ulf Thorirsson.”
“Jarl!” The holder turned, surprised. “What’s happened?” he asked quickly, seeing Wulfgar’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Plenty,” Wulfgar said grimly. “But it’ll keep until we’re inside.”
Ulf nodded, passing his sword back to a thrall. “My house is honored. In now, all of you. My men will see to the animals.” He swept around and collided with Brochael, who had been standing close behind him. Halfway off her horse, Jessa giggled at the look on his face, half amazement, half delight.
“Brochael?” he breathed.
“Come for a rematch, Ulf.” Brochael folded his arms and looked his old friend up and down. “You’ve been overeating. Running to fat.”
Ulf grinned. “There’s been no one here to challenge me.”
“Until now.”
They gripped hands, and Ulf slapped Brochael with a palm that would have made most men crumple. “It’s good to see you,” he said warmly.
The hall was small, and heavy with smoke. Food was cooked here over the central hearth. The women of the farm were thrown into cold terror by the sight of the Jarl and all his war band descending on them out of the night, until Ulf ’s wife, a tall, gaunt woman called Helga, gave quiet, efficient orders.
The high table was cleared; Wulfgar sat in the center, his friends on each side of him, Kari next to Jessa. She knew he was uneasy. Once the excitement of their arrival had died down the people of the hold were only interested in him. They stared frankly, like animals, until he looked up, and then their eyes slid away.