The Sword Song Of Bjarni Sigurdson - Plot & Excerpts
Thorstein Olafson with yesterday’s messenger beside him and his own sword companions close behind and, behind again, the men of the three longships’ crews, with the pack beasts among them. And beside Bjarni, rather surprisingly, rode Erp, to act as horsemaster and maybe scout. ‘A horsemaster you will need; and like enough one to spy ahead for you,’ he had said, standing before Thorstein the night before. ‘And how shall I be sure that you will not lead us into a trap?’ Thorstein had asked, as one reasonable man to another. ‘If this were Argyll and my own land, I might well do that thing,’ Erp had returned in the same manner. ‘But these are not my hills and the people are not my people, though I can pass for one of them more easily than you could do. Also our tongues are kin, though not the same. Did I not serve you well enough in the turning of tongue to other tongue when you had need, in times before this?’ And Thorstein the Red had thought on the question a moment, pulling at his fiery bird’s-nest beard, then said, ‘Sa, sa – ride with us, then, and if you have earned it, and live to ride back again, the first thing that Grim the Smith shall do after our return is to cut the thrall-ring from that scraggy neck of yours.’ They rode south at speed, a three-day ride, checking for a few hours at night, and a short break at noon to feed and rest the horses; for themselves scarcely any rest at all.
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