Free The Broken Sword by Poul Anderson

the empty high seat-a tall and terrible figure, mouth set in yet grimmer lines than his men remembered, the great axe which had begun to be called Brotherslayer slanted over one shoulder. Quiet spread in waves as folk saw him, until at last only the longfire had voice in that hall.
    Valgard spoke: “We cannot abide here. Though you were never at Orm’s garth, folk will make what happened into any excuse for getting rid of you. Now that is just as well. I know a place where we can win greater wealth and fame, and thither we sail the dawn after tomorrow.”
    “Where is that, and why not leave tomorrow?” asked one of his captains, a scarred old fellow by name Steingrim.
    “As to the last, I have a business here in England which we will attend tomorrow,” said Valgard. “And as to the first, our goal is Finnmark.”
    An uproar arose. Steingrim lifted his voice above it: “That is the most foolish babble I ever heard. Finnmark is poor and lonely, and lies across a sea which can be dangerous even in summer. What can we win there save death, by drowning or by the sorcerers who dwell in that land, or at best a few earthern huts to huddle in? Near at hand are England, Scotland, Ireland, Orkney, or Valland south of the channel, where good booty may be gotten.”
    “I have given my orders. You will follow them,” said Valgard.
    “Not I,” answered Steingrim. “I think you have gone mad in the woods.”
    Like a wildcat, Valgard sprang at the captain. His axe crashed down into Steingrim’s skull.
    A man yelled, grabbed a spear and thrust at Valgard. The berserker sidestepped, yanked the shaft from his hands, and knocked him to the ground. Pulling the axe from Steingrim’s head, Valgard stood looming in the smoky light with his eyes like flakes of sea-ice. He asked quietly: “Does anyone else wish to gainsay me?”
    None spoke or moved. Valgard stepped back to his high seat and told them: “I acted thus harshly because we cannot go on in our old loose way. Our lives are lost unless we become like a single man, whose head I alone am fit to be. Now I know my plan looks unwise at first, but Steingrim should have heard me out. The fact is, I have word of a rich man’s garth built in Finnmark this summer, where anything we could wish is stored. They will not await vikings in winter, so we can take it easily. Nor do I fear rough weather on the way, for you know I have some skill at foretelling it and I snuff a good wind coming.”
    The gang remembered how Valgard’s leadership had been to their betterment. As for Steingrim, he had no kin or oath-brother here. So they shouted they would follow Valgard wherever he went. When the body had been dragged out and the drinking taken up anew, he gathered his captains.
    “We have a place nearby to sack ere leaving England,” he told them. ” ‘Twill not be hard, and good plunder is to be had.”
    “What place is that?” asked one man.
    “The garth of Orm the Strong, who is now dead and cannot ward it.”
    Even those reavers thought this would be an evil deed, but they dared not talk against their chief.

IX
    Ketil’s grave-ale became also a feast for Asmund and Orm. Men drank silent and sorrowful, for Orm had been a sage leader, and he and his sons were well-liked thereabouts in spite of his being no churchman. The ground was not yet frozen too hard for the carles to start making a howe the day after the murders.
    Orm’s best ship was dragged from its house into the grave. In it were laid treasures, and meat and drink for a long voyage; horses and dogs were killed and put in the ship; and those whom Valgard had slain were placed in it with the best of clothes, weapons, and every kind of gear, and with hellshoes on their feet. Thus had Orm wanted to be buried, and had made his wife promise.
    When the task was done, some days later, Ailfrida came forth. She stood in the dull grey winter light, looking down at Orm and Ketil and Asmund. Her unbound hair fell to their breasts and