They set sail on the Sea Wolf while the morning sky was yet dark. The last of the stars still glimmered in the west, while to the east the black sky was lightening toward dove gray.

Skadi sat beside Damian on their sea chests, oars extended through the oar locks, war shields slid into the grooves that ran along the gunwale. The air was brisk and chill, and the black sand of the beach darker than the night itself. All around them hundreds of warriors were on the move, many carrying torches, all slowly bringing the last of their goods onto the ships, climbing ladders, calling out to each other, preparing to cast off.

The tide was high. The Sea Wolf was restive, her keel but barely nestled in the sand, the anchor ropes taut and straining as she eased back and forth with the tide.

Dull excitement kindled in Skadi’s heart. The warriors of the Draugr Coast were going to war. They’d never moved together in such numbers in anyone’s living memory; always the jarls had maintained a fierce independence, a reluctance to lend aid to their neighbors no matter the need.

And now they were all rowing north for her sake.

The weight of that responsibility was made real by watching the dragon ships being loaded, countless oars being extended, ten dragon ships and twice as many knorrs and smaller sailing vessels preparing to make their way up the coast as one.

“I’ve never been part of an army,” said Damian softly beside her. “If only all these warriors were sailing south to Stóllborg instead of north.”

Skadi resisted the urge to sigh impatiently. “I know, Damian. I know.”

He looked at her sidelong, his golden eyes flashing in the gloom. “You never asked me about my speech yesterday. I expected you to be furious, but it’s like nothing happened.”

“I was upset. Mostly because I was surprised. But not furious.”

His eyebrows rose. “No?”

“No. Because I agree with you. This, all of this, is to achieve a basic end, which right now is my freedom. But once I am free, what do you think I’ll do?”

“Find your father, I thought.”

“Who is intent on what?”

Damian pursed his lips, considered, then nodded. “What are the odds of your convincing your uncle to come with you?”

She twisted to stare at where her uncle stood in the stern with his steersman. He looked painfully alive, vibrant, almost, as if he’d slept ten hours instead of the two or three she knew he’d stolen. When she sharpened her gaze, his wealth of golden threads blazed forth, an outpouring that rose and then sank again to encompass all three of his dragon ships.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I suppose anything is possible.”

Shortly thereafter the signal was given, and Aurnir put his shoulder to the Sea Wolf’s prow and began to push. At first nothing happened, and the entire crew simply listened to the half-giant’s groans, and then the ship’s keel slid free and it began to glide back into the ocean, deeper and deeper into the surface, till at last Aurnir leaped, grabbed hold of the long figurehead’s neck, and hauled himself aboard, the entire ship listing to the fore.

Grinning proudly, the half-giant made his way carefully to the mast, beaming all the wider at the cheers the crew gave him, till he sank down, back to the mast.

“Reverse row!” cried the oar master, and began to beat on the head of a barrel with a length of knotted rope.

Skadi and Damian set to work, and her initial stiffness soon dissipated as her muscles warmed up, stretching and contracting, over and over as the forty warriors hauled expertly on their oars. Slowly the ship retreated from the shore, and then one side ceased rowing as the other brought her about. When the Sea Wolf faced the bay’s mouth, the dragon heads were affixed, and everybody turned on their chests so they could once gain haul on the oars.

Other ships were slicing through the water beside them, the beaten tempo of their strokes echoing over the dark waters, the laughter and cheers sounding over the small waves. Skadi grinned, exhilarated, and redoubled her efforts, loving the physical exertion.

Their boat slid over the water like a rock skimmed over a frozen lake, and just as the sun broke over the White Sea’s horizon they emerged into the open ocean where they raised the sail and caught a stiff north-easterly wind.

All day they rode it north, occasionally tacking back toward the coastline, and Skadi marveled at how different this passage was from her original arrival in Kráka. Before they had limped, now they flew, and the sail and its ropes were expertly handled by the crew, who seemed to know when to lounge and relax and when to leap up as one to tighten ropes or take up their oars to correct their coarse when the square sail could no longer capture enough wind to take them west.

The coastline skimmed past, the great rugged mountains folding down into steep valleys that opened up into fjords or great narrow inlets. The morning sun rose, the sky cleared and fresh by the passage of Freyja’s storm, and Skadi delighted in the salt spray, the sun glimmering off the waves, the sight of the other ships sailing alongside.

Few were as fast as the Sea Wolf, however, and one by one they fell behind till at last only Tryggr’s Sea Blade kept pace, cutting through the water as if hurled by one of the gods. Skadi searched and saw Tryggr at the stern, then Líføy rowing hard beside a mountain of a man. When their eyes met by chance Skadi raised her fist in salute.

To which the older woman laughed and raised two fingers of her right hand, telling her to fuck right off.

Skadi laughed in turn and looked away, bright with energy, painfully alive, wanting nothing more than to race the Sea Blade forever.

They passed Hake just before dusk and sped past the fjord’s entrance. Looking south, she saw one of Einarr’s ships turn away to return home even as the second, Tryggr’s Sea Blade, surged bravely on.

That night they camped on the rocky coast beside a great forest of ancient firs where a broad river meandered out to pour over a rocky beach into the ocean. The five dragon ships that were making with all speed for Kráka pulled up beside each other: Kvedulf’s Sea Wolf and Fjord Falcon; Baugr’s Long Spear; Tryggr’s Sea Blade; and Snorri’s Eagle’s Feast.

They were up before dawn once more, and Skadi found herself sore from the last day’s rowing; it took an hour this time to work out the ache, though Damian moaned and grumbled all morning.

Again the wind held fair, and again the Sea Wolf pulled ahead with the Long Spear. This time Skadi was certain the other ship was racing them, and she called out to the other sailors at one point to give it their all; the men needed little urging, and soon both ships were shooting over the waves, neck and neck.

Looking over at the other ship, she saw Úrœkja laughing as spray drenched her, and when the Sea Wolf finally pulled ahead, managed to catch Líføy’s eye and raise her two fingers back at the other woman.

The weather turned ugly in the afternoon, with the wind blowing down from the mountains to the west and trying to drive them straight east and out into the White Sea. They set to the laborious work of rowing through the oblique waves, allowing themselves to fall away gradually from the shore and then cut sharply back in; it was backbreaking, merciless rowing, and their earlier sprint was reduced to a crawl. The Gold of the Sun with its massive forty oars soon made up the lost ground and then powered right past them, the sailors from Hake jeering at them as they slid on by.

When they made camp the second night Skadi was exhausted. If it hadn’t been for the long summer of conditioning she knew she’d have collapsed the moment she leaped down onto the shore. Instead, she worked through a long series of stretches, wolfed down half a salmon that was roasted on a sheet of iron over the fire, and then sat with Glámr, Valka, and Aurnir around their fire, sharing a small bottle of mead as Damian lay in the tent unconscious to the world.

“This is it,” Kvedulf said to the crews of his three ships the next morning as they broke down their camp. “We reach Kráka by evening. Either we’ll find it in flames or Afastr will have passed it by. Row hard, but keep something in reserve. It’s possible we’ll be cutting off heads come dusk.”

Their weather-luck was good; they caught a northerly wind that seemed to blow without end, filling their sail to the limit and sending them scudding through the white caps. The world was gray and leached of color, the water the darkest slate blue, and the woods and mountain slopes that slid past them on the right possessed by a cruel menace that Skadi couldn’t shake.

There was no boisterous racing today; they rowed with purpose but kept their efforts in check. On and on they sailed, surprising a shoal of flying fish at one point that leaped free of the waves to cross right over the deck at one point, and espying a massive whale breeching the sea’s surface far out to their left, its melancholy, majestic leap seeming to happen in slow motion as it fell back into the water and sent vast waves rolling away in every direction.

The men around them began to recognize landmarks as the afternoon wore on, and soon estimates for how long it would take them were being called out. The sky began to darken, the sun dipped behind the crags, and the wind grew ice cold as they at last espied the entrance to Kráka’s fjord up ahead.

No cheers.

Instead, everyone bent to their tasks with renewed vigor. The oar master beat a slow tempo so that the Sea Wolf didn’t pull ahead, and when all the ships were gathered close they led the way into the fjord.

Fast now, oars rising and dipping, over and over again, the motion mechanical, the effort tremendous but somehow rote. The cliffs rose around them, and they slid like a seax into its sheath, following the curves, rounding the elbows of land that descended into the black water.

“I don’t hear any fighting,” grunted Damian beside her.

From experience, Skadi knew that battle echoed loudly in the fjord; the silence gave her hope.

Then, finally, they broke around the final twist and everybody turned to stare. Skadi fought the urge to rise to her feet, her heart in her throat.

There was no sign of fighting. No flames. No shouts, no screams, no dragon boats in the harbor.

But for all the stillness, Skadi could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong.