It was still a long distance away, but even through the growing darkness, Thorson could see the ice wall clearly as if it had its own light.
It was not where the Wall began.
It was where it ended.
He remembered it clearly now.
That was where the raven that had first shown him the place had begun its flight.
And it was where it had ended, where the Wall met the jagged cliffs of the mountains beside it.
The same mountains they had watched stretching across the southern horizon during their journey.
Beside the Wall, a black fortress rose like a black tooth snarling at the grey sky.
Within moments of his announcement, several men climbed nearby trees to see what he was pointing at.
Even Ragnar climbed the same tree, and Thorson shifted to allow him to climb higher.
Ragnar remained silent for a long while after seeing what the boy had seen.
He slowly scanned from one end of the Wall down as far as his eyes could go like a man searching for something he knew had to be there, even though he could not yet see it.
Below them, the rest of the men climbed down and sprawled across the snow in frustration and anger.
Eventually Ragnar descended as well, and Thorson followed closely.
“What now?” Rollo asked.
“The boy was right,” Ragnar said quietly.
“It seems we have a better chance of reaching that Wall than finding open water.”
A tense silence followed.
“We are all going to perish here.
We should have gone back with the rest,” another man muttered.
Most of the others remained silent, waiting for Ragnar to speak again.
When he finally did, his words were not what anyone expected.
He turned toward his brother, a new light burning in his eyes.
“Brother, take charge of the men.
Drag the ship to the edge of the woods and hide it well.
Have everyone armed and ready.”
He did not wait for Rollo to question him.
Instead, he turned to Thorson.
“You.
With me.”
Thorson stepped after him immediately.
“Floki, get us our shields and weapons.”
Floki hurried aboard the longship and did as he was told.
Ragnar selected several more men, including Torstein and Bjorn.
In total they numbered eight.
He turned toward the rest.
“Be armed and ready.
This Wall looks quite far, but if that is a fortress, then they may have scouts in these woods.
We are going ahead to scout and see what we can find.”
Without another word, he led the group into the forest.
None of them asked what exactly they were scouting for.
They simply followed with shields on their arms and axes in their hands.
It felt strangely comforting.
For the first time in days, they had a purpose beyond dragging a ship endlessly across the frozen wasteland.
By the time they had pushed deeper into the woods, darkness had thickened, making it difficult to see the path ahead.
But they had travelled through worse.
Several nights of blizzards and endless darkness had trained their eyes to make the most of the faintest light.
For a long while they moved in complete silence, weaving beneath dead branches and stopping whenever Ragnar raised a hand.
Once again, he lifted his arm.
Every man froze.
Ragnar slowly lowered himself onto his belly, and the men followed.
Thorson and Bjorn lay only a short distance behind him.
They began crawling forward.
Every few moments Ragnar stopped.
He crouched low, listening.
Then he lifted his nose slightly, sniffing the air like a wolf catching a scent.
No one questioned him.
They all knew he had found something.
Eventually they too saw it.
Farther ahead, buried around a cluster of trees, lay a clearing.
Several trees had been felled and rough log camps built in their place.
Smoke drifted from a fire at the center.
The clearing was alive with people…
the first humans they had seen since setting out.
Thorson counted roughly fifteen armed men.
There were nearly thirty women and even more children.
Every one of the Vikings held his breath.
No one dared move.
Ragnar slowly lowered his shield beside him before reaching back and tapping the shoulder of the man nearest him, who turned out to be Thorson.
Thorson quietly crawled beside him until they were face to face.
“Go back to the camp,” Ragnar whispered.
“Bring Rollo and the rest of the men.
Leave only two or three behind to guard the ship.”
Thorson nodded.
He carefully crawled away.
Only when he judged himself safely beyond sight of the camp did he rise and break into a run.
His heart pounded with excitement.
There was hope after all.
They had not crossed an endless frozen wasteland for nothing.
The presence of people meant there were still places where life endured.
He ran until his lungs burned and his chest felt ready to burst.
Still he did not stop.
Every moment he delayed increased the chance that Ragnar’s group would be discovered.
The people he had seen looked thin and hungry, but they were still grown men carrying crude weapons.
Seven exhausted Vikings would eventually be overwhelmed.
Finally he burst into the clearing where the longship had been hidden and collapsed to his knees.
Rollo was immediately beside him.
“What happened, boy?
Where are the others?”
“They’re safe,” Thorson gasped before collapsing onto the snow.
Rollo uncorked his own waterskin and pushed it against Thorson’s lips.
“Drink.”
Thorson swallowed several quick mouthfuls before forcing himself to stop.
Water had become too precious to waste.
Rollo lowered the skin.
“Where are they?
Why are you back?”
“Ragnar sent me,” Thorson panted.
“He wants you to bring the rest of the men.
Leave three behind to guard the ship.
We found a camp with people.”
Rollo grinned.
“Ah.
War at last.
I hope it leads to something.”
He turned toward the waiting men.
“You heard the boy.
Grab your shields and axes.
You three stay behind.”
Once again Thorson led them through the dark forest.
Several times he stopped to regain his bearings.
Darkness made every tree look the same.
As they neared the place where he had left Ragnar, Thorson dropped onto his belly.
The others immediately followed without question.
Slowly they crawled until they rejoined the first group.
Ragnar rose from where he had been lying and raised one arm.
In sudden unison, carrying days of bottled anger, exhaustion, and frustration, the thirty-six Vikings burst into the camp with a thunderous war cry.
Panic exploded through the clearing.
Some of the men reached desperately for their weapons.
Others ran toward bows.
None of them were fast enough.
Several fell beneath the furious assault before the rest threw themselves onto their knees with their hands raised.
The Vikings immediately spread through the camp.
They searched everywhere, gathering food, water, warm clothing, and every useful supply they could find.
Ragnar, however, walked slowly among the prisoners.
“We should kill them,” Rollo said as he approached his brother.
“All of them.”
Ragnar remained silent.
Then one of the captives suddenly crawled forward and bowed until his forehead touched the snow.
“Please…
don’t kill us.
If you are Mance Rayder’s men, spare us.
Take everything we have.”
The other prisoners stared at the man who had pleaded with loathing.
Some even spat.
The gathered Vikings exchanged amused looks.
Ragnar seized the man by the throat and hauled him to his feet.
“And where is this Mance Rayder’s army?”
The man looked confused.
“We don’t know.
We’ve been searching for days.
The crows drove us from our last camp.
We’ve been wandering since.”
“The crows?” Thorson repeated.
Ragnar glanced toward him but allowed him to continue.
“Are they the men who guard that Wall?”
The captive stared at him as though he had asked the most foolish question imaginable.
“‘Course they are, don’t they?
Crows do far more than guard the Wall.
They ride beyond it and slaughter every free folk they find…
call us wildlings they do.”
“Wildling?” Ragnar asked.
Now the man’s expression changed completely.
For the first time, genuine terror crossed his face.
“You…
you’re not Mance Rayder’s men.”