Free Blood Will Follow by Snorri Kristjansson Page A

cunning that had landed Skeggi on King Olav’s side. He’d been quicker than the others to see which way the wind was turning. Runar raised a hand to the warrior.
    “Botolf tells me you’ve promised a reward,” he said the moment he was in earshot.
    Runar bit back a response and forced a nodding smile. “Th-th-that is t-true,” he countered. “B-but we cannot go into detail right now.”
    “Right,” Skeggi said. “Never know who’s listening, eh?”
    “Right. Well observed,” Runar said and gave the big lump of a man a conspiratorial wink he suspected would largely go to waste. “W-we d-d-don’t need to say to Botolf, for example, that whoever takes c-care of getting one king out of the way can expect r-rewards from the n-next.”
    Skeggi’s thick brow furrowed even further as he puzzled out the meaning of the words. When he finally arrived at the destination he wished to reach, his face lit up. “Right,” he rumbled and tapped his thrice-broken nose. “Tomorrow morning. What happens?”
    “We will try to get lines going from the south gate,” Runar said, pointing, “and divide the men down to the east and west. You and Botolf will provide us with ten men each; they’ll board the king’s ship. It’s the one over there with the dragon’s head.”
    “Mighty fine boat,” Skeggi said. “I’ll be on that one, too. Just to make sure everything goes right.”
    Runar’s mind raced. “Is . . . are you sure? It would p-possibly be b-better if, um—”
    The big man fixed him with a stare that was neither dull nor slow. Thick bands of muscle flexed under his shift. “I’m going on that boat. As is Botolf. You can’t ask us just for our men. I want to be there when it goes down—to see the look on his face.”
    “Yes. Of course.”
    “And you want to be up close for that sort of thing,” Skeggi added. “Otherwise, people will think you’re a coward.” A bushy eyebrow crept skyward. “Or an archer.” Runar’s cheeks burned. The look on the chieftain’s face said he’d noticed. “So I trust you’ll be there with us?”
    “Of course,” Runar snapped. In his mind’s eye, he imagined putting three arrows through the big bully’s throat at a hundred paces, and his heart slowed down somewhat. “Wouldn’t m-miss it.”
    Skeggi smiled, and Runar wished he hadn’t. “Very good. I like you, Squeak. You got it all figured out.” With that, the broad-shouldered chieftain turned and stalked away.
    Runar exhaled. “F-fucking sh-sheep-rapist p-pot face,” he spat as he glared at Skeggi’s broad back. Next time he’d boot the princehimself into negotiating with his dear subjects-to-be. Turning his mind to the logistics of arming and readying three thousand men, he idly wondered whether they had any chance of making a few more corpses drop overboard tomorrow.
    “They’re ready,” Finn said.
    Valgard looked at his handiwork and allowed himself to feel a little bit of pride. The two bodies on his floor looked just like Sigurd and Sven would have in full armor. Only by taking off the chain-mail jerkins would you see that both of the dead men’s necks had been snapped. “It still feels wrong, though,” the big man muttered.
    “I know, Finn. I know. But you understand, just like King Olav did, that it has to be done. We do the Lord’s work, though, because we’re not giving in to our enemy. We’re not giving the old gods two powerful souls for the afterlife. We’re just giving them—and all the men—a bit of a . . . a show.”
    Finn nodded. With his sloped shoulders and hung head, he looked like a sulky child. He walked over to where Sven and Sigurd lay. “And what do we do with them?”
    “As King Olav said, remember?”
    “Uhm,” Finn muttered. “Yes.”
    Scale back further on the shadowroot , Valgard reminded himself. Pliant but useful was the desired result, not sleepwalking idiot bear. He reached inside and found all the command he could muster. “Get me a cart, four