Chapter 17 The Lord of Storm and Sea
seventeen
The Lord of Storm and Sea
Njord
The salty sea winds carried the scent of home, and after days spent in the oppressive atmosphere of Sveinn’s camp, Njord felt like he could finally breathe again.
Standing tall at the longship’s helm, he watched storm clouds gather on the horizon.
He’d sent ten of his ships straight to Nóatún.
The remaining ships were sailing toward the mainland, southeast of the fortress.
The longships soared swiftly through the churning gray water, their majestic dragon bows rising and falling with each swell, and their deep blue sails billowing.
His gaze swept over his warriors and the thralls huddled beneath canvas shelters.
He’d bought his people back from Sveinn, but it gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to prevent the raid on his territory in the first place.
He hadn’t revealed his true identity to the thralls yet, still posing as Norrin Stormtamer, so they watched him with a mixture of hope and wariness, uncertain whether their new master would prove kinder than the last.
“You look gloomy. Aren’t you glad to be sailing for home?”
Skalmold stepped to his side, her dark hair flowing in the wind. She had refused to return to her mountain cave, claiming that she needed to accompany him. Reluctantly, Njord had allowed her to come. Perhonen had vouched for her, after all.
“I don’t like that I had to let Svanhild and Sveinn live. I have a feeling that I’ll regret this decision dearly.”
“Still, you were right to do so.” She gently put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the storm-swept horizon. “Darker powers are at play here than an over-ambitious priestess and a rogue raider.”
“I know.”
Njord’s gaze was drawn to where Odinsson lay huddled in the captain’s shelter at the helm, wrapped in furs and blankets.
He’d been unconscious when Njord carried him aboard, still burning with fever from Svanhild’s poisoned seier even after all Njord had done to cure him.
Thori had awakened briefly yesterday, long enough to drink some broth and exchange a few barbed words, but the magical backlash had left him weak as a newborn foal.
Now he shivered despite the furs, his face pale against the soft wool of Njord’s favorite cloak.
“Svanhild was willing to go to great lengths to get ahold of his power,” Skalmold said speculatively.
The thought was nagging at Njord, too.
“But whom does she serve if not Odin?”
Skalmold smiled at him, self-assured and careless.
“That’s what you’re going to find out. You and your pretty thrall.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“There’s a storm brewing,” she stated, conveniently changing the subject.
But she was right. The wind had picked up even more. What had begun as a calm summer morning was turning into a tempest. The first raindrops were already beginning to fall, and a surprising cold bit through Njord’s tunic. The weather was capricious, to say the least.
“Strange weather indeed,” he grumbled.
Taking a quick glance at Thori again, Njord noted with some concern that his captive was still shivering beneath the furs. Of course, Njord was merely checking on him so frequently to protect his investment. There was nothing more to it.
“I can take the helm later if you feel the need to look after him,” Skalmold said, an amused gleam in her bright eyes.
Was she making fun of him?
“Don’t worry, Shipbreaker. Your nephew and his husband will return to Saeborg safely, and you’ll find your sister.”
If only he could share her optimism. Still, her words somehow lent him new confidence. He gave her a curt nod.
“I’ll consider your offer. But first I have to bring us through this foul weather.”
The storm was getting stronger by the minute; the pitch-black clouds gathering and increasingly higher waves rising in front of them.
Frowning in confusion, Njord reached out to the elements.
Storm and sea were his domain. He should be able to turn this squall aside with a thought, or at least take the worst bite from its wind.
Instead, the storm increased in strength, indifferent to his will. Something was very wrong.
A violent gust sent a spray across the deck, and several of the thralls cried out in alarm.
Adjusting their course, Njord’s jaw tightened as he pushed against the storm’s unnatural resistance to his power.
The storm ignored him! Whatever malicious sorcery had spawned this weather, it was beyond his ability to dispel.
“There is corruption in the very air,” Skalmold screamed over the howling of the wind. “Ancient seier, foul and hungry.”
“Yes. I can feel it too.”
“What are we waiting for then?” She grinned like an excited shieldmaiden on the dawn of battle. “I’ll sing to the waves, and you’ll steer us right through the heart of the storm!”
The hint of a smile tugged at Njord’s lips. The seeress was clearly mad. Unfortunately, she was also right. He nodded.
Swiftly, she moved to stand at the ship’s dragon head. And then she sang. Bold and loud and otherworldly.
And Njord found himself singing along with her, ancient verses of the sea and the waves, of storms and clouds.
They cut through deep troughs and climbed up high with the waves, blazingly fast, as Njord navigated their little fleet through the raging storm that would sink lesser vessels.
But he only laughed and kept singing, truly careless for a moment.
Lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled like war drums. Njord fought to keep the oar straight, arms burning and rain beating down on him. The whole longship shook under the onslaught of the elements.
Grinning in grim determination, he let his power expand, pushing the malevolent seier away. This felt good. Alive.
It took hours before the storm abated. The air was way too cold, and heavy rain was pouring down on them, but Njord knew that they’d made it.
“You can rest for a while.” Skalmold staggered back to the helm, wet as a drowned rat but still smiling. “Look after your thrall.”
Njord was loath to leave the oar. They’d only just escaped the storm’s wrath, but one look at Thori had him reconsidering. He shook the rain from his cloak and wrung the water out of his hair before slipping under the canvas that formed the captain’s shelter.
He found Thori in poorer condition than he’d left him this morning, his breathing shallow and his skin clammy with sweat. The unnatural cold of the storm had seeped through even the thick furs, and Njord could see the subtle tremors shaking Thori’s body.
Putting a hand on Thori’s brow, Njord tried to gauge his temperature. His thrall stirred with a pained groan. Amber eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with fever.
“It’s cold,” Thori mumbled, the words barely recognizable through chattering teeth.
Heaving a deep sigh, Njord knew what he had to do. There was only one way to provide the warmth Thori needed, and it was a purely practical arrangement, he told himself as he slipped beneath the furs.
Thori tensed at the contact.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re freezing,” Njord said curtly, pulling his thrall more securely against his chest. “Unless you’d prefer to die of cold before we reach shore, I suggest you do not complain.”
For a moment, Thori’s pride seemed to wrestle with his need for warmth. Then another fierce shiver ran through his body, and he melted against Njord with a soft sigh of relief. His head came to rest on Njord’s shoulder, golden hair tickling his neck.
“Better?” Njord asked after a while, trying to ignore how perfectly Thori fit against him.
“Mmm.” Thori’s response was muffled against his collarbone. “I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Huh?”
“The way you sang the storm away, it sounded nice.”
“Of course, I sing to the waves. Don’t you sing to your thunder?”
Thori looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. Feverish. Confused. And somehow adoring.
“I like your voice,” he slurred instead of answering his question.
“You like my voice?”
“Beautiful.” Thori smiled at him, a little lopsided. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Njord said, amused despite himself.
Adjusting their position, he made sure the furs covered them both completely. Thori’s shivers gradually subsided as warmth returned to his chilled limbs, and his breathing deepened. This was much better.
Outside the shelter, the storm gradually subsided, and something like peace settled over Njord.
It felt incredible to be the one providing the warmth Thori needed.
Dangerously good. It was just this one night, Njord told himself again.
One more night to make sure Thori would survive so Njord could take his revenge. What harm could it possibly do?
They neared Njareby the next morning as the sun finally broke through the clouds. Njord had slept little the night before. He’d made sure that the murderous storm didn’t return, not constantly checking if Thori was alive and breathing. Or so he told himself.
He rose early, watching the sun paint the sea in shades of gray and gold.
He knew the stretch of coast by heart, a labyrinth of small islands, the sea merging seamlessly with the woods and wetlands beyond.
Only a few fisher dwellings dotted this remote coastal area.
A peculiar place for raiding. Why Sveinn had chosen it for his attack was anyone’s guess.
Thori stirred in his nest of furs as Njord crouched down beside him. With some satisfaction, he found Thori’s skin warm and dry and his face less pallid than the night before.
“Wake up,” Njord whispered, brushing some errant strands from Thori’s brow.
“Mmm?”
Slowly blinking his eyes open, Thori was adorably drowsy and confused.
“We’ve almost reached Njareby. I want you to accompany me ashore.”
“Oh.” Thori struggled to sit up. “Has the storm passed?”
“Yes.”
“I dreamed—” Thori rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I dreamed you sang it away.”
“So I did.”
“Oh—”
“Now be a good boy and eat what I brought you.”
Surprisingly, his thrall did as he was told, wolfing down the offered bread and dried fruit.
Njord made a mental note to feed him properly once they reached Nóatún.
Thori was a warrior, tall and muscular, and he needed to eat.
And it was all too obvious that between his captivity and his illness he hadn’t gotten his fill.
“Good. I brought clothes too. Put these on and join me on deck.”
Now properly awake and no longer famished, Thori shot him a withering glare. Some color had returned to his cheeks, and after days of fever, he looked healthy enough to try a short walk. That suited Njord just fine.
“Don’t take too long,” Njord said before leaving Thori some privacy to get changed.
He was needed at the helm to guide his longship into the harbor.