Chapter Nine
The hours all blurred into each other as they marched, and there was little to distinguish day from night.
The column had many wounded, and they needed to stop often for rest breaks.
Hakon worried and fretted over their slow pace, and although they said nothing, he could see the faces of Gunhilde, Baedi, and Sigrid become grimmer.
The only one whose spirits did not seem dampened was Gunnar, who spent more and more time with his foster family, gently cajoling Thorulf into maintaining a steady pace and reassuring Ignetha, who worried over her husband’s injuries.
Privately however, Gunnar confided his worries to Hakon. “Thorulf needs help,” he admitted. “Sif does what she can, and her magic helps, but he needs the time to properly rest in order to truly heal.”
“I’m sorry, Brother.” Hakon knew that Thorulf was not the only one in such a position but saw no reason to point that out. “Have you talked to the Elder Sisters about how long it will take to get to the Ironwood?”
Gunnar looked sheepish. “I was rather hoping that you would. Gunhilde doesn’t seem to like me, and she has a stare that could freeze a man’s balls.”
Hakon chuckled. “I know what you mean. Alright, I’ll see what I can find out.
” He gave Sif a quick kiss then sped his pace to reach the front of the column.
Just as he did so, Gunhilde called a halt, and with weary moans, the witches and their companions shed their packs and collapsed to the ground.
Despite their age and obvious tiredness, Gunhilde, Baedi, and Sigurd held themselves ramrod straight, their only concession to the pains of their journey, the deep drinks they took out of a water canteen they passed around.
Gunhilde eyed Hakon as he approached. “What can we do for you, young man?” she asked.
“I’ve been watching the state of the wounded. They need some real rest if their condition is not to worsen. I was wondering how much farther we have to go.”
The Elder witch beckoned him to come closer. Once he had done so, she said quietly, “We have a problem.”
Hakon’s eyes narrowed. “Go on,” he prompted.
“Unfortunately we are not going fast enough, young warrior. Although we had a head start on the Skraelings, they catch up with us more and more each day.”
“How do you know this?” he demanded. “And why do the Skraelings follow us rather than the refugee townsfolk?”
“Perhaps they have split up and follow us both. I do not know for certain,” admitted Gunhilde.
“As to how we know, even though our ability to detect our enemies through magic is next to nonexistent, we do still have our allies in the forests themselves. They are the ones who tell us that our pursuers are gaining on us.”
Hakon thought for a moment then realized why Gunhilde was giving him this information. “You need a delay,” he said. “Someone to make battle against the Skraelings and cover your retreat.”
“Absolutely correct, young warrior,” she replied.
“How many fighters can you give me?” he asked.
“Not many,” she admitted. “Perhaps twenty witches, and some forest allies.”
Hakon took a deep breath. “Very well,” he said. “On one condition: Sif travels with you, and you keep her safe.”
Gunhilde nodded. “Agreed. We will rest here for a little while longer. I will gather the Ironwood witches who will stay behind with you. Meet us here in this glade in fifteen minutes. And thank you.”
Hakon gave a grunt of assent and jogged back down the column. He found Gunnar first. His brother examined Hakon’s expression and said, “Ah. So we’re to fight a rear-guard action.”
Hakon let his breath out in a puff of surprise. “How did you figure that out?”
Gunnar shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Ulf and Breca will help us, of course. How many of the witches?”
“Twenty.”
Gunnar raised an eyebrow. “Sif?”
Hakon shook his head vehemently. “She goes with the column.”
Gunnar swore. “You’re a fool.”
“It’s my decision,” said Hakon stubbornly.
“You need to look at your woman and see her for who she truly is,” insisted Gunnar. “She is a sorceress of legend, not some fragile creature. Protect her yes, by all means, but for Freyja’s sake, don’t hold her back!”
“My decision, Gunnar,” Hakon snarled warningly.
“Oh, I know it is,” Gunnar said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make you any less of an idiot, Brother mine.”
***
“You can’t be serious,” said Sif, a few minutes later, when Hakon told her the news.
“You go with the column, Sif, and that is my command,” said Hakon. “Those witches will need you, especially if all else is lost.”
“And I need you, you big lummox!” she said, punching him in the shoulder. “Can’t you see that? How will I go on if I lose you?”
“We both have our destinies,” replied Hakon. “My decision protects yours.”
“What if you both protected each other, you morons?” muttered Gunnar, but Hakon chose to ignore his brother.
“I mean it, Sif. You swore to obey me, do you remember?” insisted Hakon. Sif stared at him angrily for a moment then finally looked down.
“Yes, I did,” she admitted. “And I meant it. I will go with the column, and pray for your return.”
Hakon kissed her fiercely. “That’s my woman. I will see you again soon, gods willing.”
Sif held on to her man a moment longer. “Keep yourself alive. I’m not done being mad at you.” She kissed him again then patted his cheek. “Now go, before I decide to disobey you anyway.”
“I don’t think you want the consequences of that, my love,” warned Hakon half-jokingly, signaling to his brother that it was time to move. A moment later, they were jogging down the trail.
“You know, I sometimes think that you and Sif would be amazed at what you would learn if the two of you actually stopped and listened to each other,” grumbled Gunnar.
“This from the man who’s never had a serious relationship in his life?” laughed Hakon.
“Odin’s beard, I’ve been a spectator to one since I was about twelve,” Gunnar shot back.
The brothers slowed down as they reached the clearing where Gunhilde, Baedi, and Sigrid stood. Joining the Elder Sisters were Gunnar’s foster brothers, Ulf and Breca, as well as twenty or so young witches of the Ironwood, whose expressions ranged from fierce to fearful. They all looked determined.
It’s too few, thought Hakon with concern. But he wasn’t about to make that thought public. Instead, he stepped close to Gunhilde and asked quietly, “What sort of numbers are we likely to face, Lady?”
Keeping her voice equally quiet, she murmured back, “A thousand or more.”
Swallowing, Hakon nodded. “Well then, we bloody well make sure they never catch us, don’t we? You mentioned something about aid from forest folk as well?”
“One more step to the right and you’d be standing on forest folk, you monstrous muskox,” came a grumpy, raspy voice from near Hakon’s knees. “I swear, you’re as blind as your father!”
Astonished, the young warrior looked down to behold a figure who had featured in many of his parents’ tales.
“Magnus!” he cried in delight, reaching down and picking up the protesting gnome to look him in the eye.
“I’ve heard so much of you, I feel I know you!
A thousand thanks for coming to our aid yet again. ”
“Put me down, you overgrown oaf!” protested the gnome, straightening his hat and jacket when Hakon laughingly did so.
“I wouldn’t have to come to your aid so often if you lot weren’t always stepping in it, would I?
Good grief, it’s a wonder I ever manage to get anything done!
Erm…anyway. Your parents are well, I take it? And Huw, and Astrid?”
Hakon sank low to speak to Magnus eye to eye. “They are indeed, Magnus. And they all remember you as a friend of the family. So that makes us friends as well.”
The gnome blushed furiously and toed the ground. “Lot of bother, that sounds like. Anyways, I’ve brought some other ‘family friends’ to help us as well. Magni, show yourselves!”
Suddenly, the glade was filled with the noise of numerous gnomes, all giving their hellos at once, appearing as if from nowhere.
Hakon wanted to burst into laughter, both from the comic sight before him and from the arrival of so many allies who would be so very useful in a series of forest confrontations. “Well met, all of you!” he cried, only to be answered by a chorus of gnomish voices.
“Hang on,” said Gunnar shrewdly, with a twinkle in his eye. “You called them ‘Magni.’ Magnus, are these your kin?” He paused, looking at the expression on the gnome’s face then gasped. “Magnus, are all of these gnomes your sons?”
Magnus blushed a second time. “Well…I haven’t spent all of my time rescuing the big folk.”
***
The Skraeling scouts loped through the forest, holding to a punishing pace as they closed in on the column of witches and others who had fled the fall of Visby.
The scouts would pause every so often, leaning down low to the ground to examine the tracks the column had made in their flight, checking carefully for any signs of individuals separating from the main group.
In the partial light that filtered through the forest canopy, the Skraelings looked like beasts themselves, clad in their dark furs.
One Skraeling warrior, longer of limb than the others, raised his hand in a signal to stop. He leaned forwards, his wide nostrils flaring, and sniffed loudly. His eyes narrowed and he took a tighter grip on his spear before turning towards his companions.
Hakon gave the signal.
The leafy mold beneath the Skraelings’ feet exploded into activity, and several of the warriors fell. Coils of witchfire snapped through the forest, encircling and tightening around other fur-clad Skraelings, who collapsed to the ground, writhing.