Free Fin Gall by James L. Nelson Page A

out. I think you can guess why we are keeping it to ourselves.”
                  “And that was it?”
                  Thorgim’s eyes met Magnus’s and held them, and for a long moment they just sat there, unmoving, each staring the other down. Thorgrim thought of the young nobleman he had fought for the crown, the moment when they had gripped one another, each holding the other in check. This was like that, but here it was will and not brute strength.
                  “That was it.”
                  Magnus looked away and nodded, but the nod seemed to be in answer to his own internal question, and not anything that Thorgrim had said. Then he turned back and smiled, as if any unpleasantness had been whisked away.
                  “Still, it was a lucky take,” Magnus said. “And we Danes are not too worried, when a man has goods to sell, where he got them. It’s a dangerous world, you know.”
                  “Ha!” Ornolf roared. “You’ve said it! Dangerous as long as Norwegians are at sea, and led by Ornolf the Restless! A drink with you, Magnus Magnusson!”
                  Ornolf held his cup aloft, and so did Magnus and they drank. Magnus raised his hand and the master of the mead hall appeared as if conjured up by the Dane.
                  “Vali, these men are my guests,” Magnus said, gesturing to Thorgrim and Ornolf, “them and all the bold men who sailed with them. Let their cups never be empty tonight, or you will answer to me!”
                  “Yes, sir,” Vali said, backed away and began barking orders to the slave girls, who swept around the crowded hall, filling the Norwegians’ cups to overflowing, then filling them again as they were quickly drained.
                  Thorgrim took a deep drink, felt the warm, sweet mead run down his throat. He looked around. The scene in the hall was reaching its zenith, the roaring, singing, shouting and fighting coming to a crescendo that would soon begin to taper off until all the men there were asleep or dead. He had seen it many, many times. It was like a battle that reached a point of ultimate fury, a madness that could not be sustained for long, and then as more and more men dropped, came to an end.
                  At the far end of the table, young Harald was already face down, one of the first casualties of the night, his mouth open, his snores lost in the din. He looked almost angelic, an odd contrast to the wild men around him.
                  Thorgrim Night Wolf smiled, drained his cup, set it down and stood. “Thank you for your kindness, Magnus Magnusson, but I must go.”
                  “Go? Won’t you have another cup with me?”
                  “Forget him!” Ornolf shouted. “He is like an old woman when he gets this way! I will have another cup with you, and then the iron in my trousers will be cooled and ready for another thrust in the fire, eh!”
                  Thorgrim left them, pushed his way though the men. He recalled that there was no one aboard the Red Dragon now, save for the six men he had left behind, and Thorgrim was not happy about that. He was wary by nature, and the strange turns of the evening had only made him more so.
                  He looked around the mead hall, picking out his own men, considering whether or not to order them back to the ship. They were well mingled with the Danes now, and well in their cups, as drunk as Ornolf had ever been on his best day. There would be no getting them out of the mead hall now. Thorgrim did not even try.
                  He stopped where Harald was slumped over the table and gave the boy a hard shake, which had no more effect than to make him groan, a feeble sound, and try to brush Thorgrim’s hand away.
                  At least he is still alive ,