Floki paced restlessly Floki paced restlessly beside the two brothers and Torstein.
“Ragnar, it does not please me to say this, but what you are suggesting is impossible.
You saw how hard it was to drag the ship over the ice.
It will be impossible to do it on a mountain footpath.”
The four of them had withdrawn from the rest to deliberate on their way forward.
Ragnar had not seen it fit to begin the march down before darkness had fallen over the mountain again.
It would be tempting fate twice, as he put it.
So far they had come up without much incident, and he was hoping the journey back would be the same.
“Not if we take her apart,” Ragnar said.
Floki reacted to the statement as though Ragnar had torn his heart out with his bare hands.
His eyes remained fixed on Ragnar, waiting for the man to reveal it was a joke.
But when he realized Ragnar was serious, his eyes flared.
“Take her apart?
We would have no ship.
Then why would we have gone through all this trouble?”
Ragnar smiled, barely showing his teeth, and sat down against the side of the mountain he had been leaning on.
“I do not mean we destroy her.
We take her apart.
The mast, the hull planks, and leave the keel with only the sternpost.
Different men carry different sections.”
Floki stared at him.
“And then what?” Rollo cut in.
“Even if we somehow manage to drag it up here, it will take us even longer to put her back together.
We do not have that kind of time, Ragnar.”
“I disagree.”
He pointed toward the stream.
“Look at it.
We already have water, and the farther it flows, the more life it seems to have.
There has to be fish in there.
If so, we can restock our food while we put the ship back together.
In any case, putting a ship back together is not the same as building one from nothing.”
He looked at Floki.
“Am I wrong?”
Floki’s anger slowly subsided.
A calmer look settled over his face.
“It can be done,” he said hesitantly.
“If we manage to get the parts farther south beyond all those obstacles.”
Rollo growled in frustration.
“I am not talking about food.
Has neither of you realized that we seem to be caught between several enemies?
If this Mance Rayder truly exists, then he is just as much a threat as these crows.
The longer we stay here, the greater the chance we run into one of them.”
Ragnar looked up.
Darkness had begun to settle over the mountains, and the little view they still had of the Wall had almost completely disappeared.
“I think it is time to go back,” Ragnar said, patting his brother on the shoulder.
“Take the men back to camp and wait for me there.
I shall be back before dawn.”
Rollo looked at him.
“Where are you going?”
Ragnar smiled knowingly.
“Farther south.
I need to see this Milkwater with my own eyes,” he said, looking at the three men beside him.
“Better yet, I need to see this Bridge of Skulls.
It seems it will be the greatest obstacle once the ship is afloat.”
“And you are going by yourself?” Rollo asked.
“Ragnar, it is too great a risk.”
But Ragnar merely cocked his head.
“Great risks are what greatness demands, brother.
I will be back.”
Moving away from the group, Ragnar walked toward where the two boys, Thorson and Bjorn, were crouched, eating their rations.
“Bjorn, you will accompany your uncle back to the camp.
I will join you later.”
“Where are you going?” Bjorn asked.
Ragnar looked at his son.
“Wherever I am going, you are not coming,” he said before Bjorn could protest.
“You are,” he added, turning to Thorson.
Thorson looked up in surprise.
He had not expected that.
Even Bjorn looked at him as though it were some sort of betrayal.
“Why?
Why is he coming and not me?”
Ragnar raised an eyebrow.
“Are you questioning my decision now?”
“No, Father…”
“Then do as you are told.
No more questions.”
“Come along, boy.”
Thorson looked apologetically at his friend before grabbing his waterskin and rations and following Ragnar.
“How good are you with a bow?” Ragnar asked.
“Not an expert,” Thorson admitted.
“But I can shoot.”
“Good.”
They walked over to where several Vikings with bows were gathered.
“May I borrow your bows?”
The men exchanged a glance but did not hesitate.
Two removed their bows and quivers and handed them over.
Ragnar gave one bow to Thorson and slung the other over his own shoulder.
Then Rollo gathered the men, and the group began the descent.
Ragnar remained where he was with Thorson until the others had disappeared farther down the mountainside.
Only then did he turn south and begin following the stream.
Darkness had grown so thick it was becoming difficult to see more than a few paces ahead.
The cold had also become equally unbearable.
Even beneath thick woollen cloaks, every movement made their joints feel as though they were cracking beneath the strain.
It was a long while before Ragnar finally spoke.
“Have you seen anything new?”
Thorson was silent for a moment.
He knew what Ragnar meant.
“No.”
“Have you tried?”
“Tried?”
Thorson looked at the man walking ahead of him.
“I do not know what to do.
The visions come when they will.
I cannot force them.”
Thorson knew, however, that he had not been completely honest with Ragnar.
His visions did not always come through dreams.
Sometimes they came through warging into animals.
He had deliberately left that part out.
Among the Vikings, those touched by such gifts were not always trusted.
“Where are we going anyway?” he finally asked after Ragnar had remained quiet for some time.
“Exploring.
I want to see just how large this Milkwater truly is.”
He was quiet for a while before continuing.
“And if we are fortunate, we might even get close enough to see the Shadow Tower.”
He pointed into the darkness where the fortress was supposed to stand.
Thorson came to a sudden halt.
“You heard the wildling.
He said that is the most heavily watched path through the mountains.”
“So he did,” Ragnar replied.
“But do you not think that is all the more reason to see it for ourselves?…
If two men cannot get close without being discovered, what do you think will happen to an entire longship full of men trying to row south?”
“It would be a massacre,” Thorson answered.
Ragnar nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Now be quick.
The faster we move, the better our chances of getting back before dawn.”
But Thorson’s mind was still occupied.
“Why did you choose me?” Thorson asked.
“You could have brought one of your more experienced men.”
Ragnar stopped and turned toward him.
There was something close to frustration in his eyes.
“I am growing tired of every man questioning my decisions.
Do you think I had not already considered that?”
Thorson merely looked at him, hoping for an actual answer.
“If you did not wish to come, you should have spoken before the others left.As it is, it is already too late.”
Without another word, he turned and leapt across several rocks near the frozen edge of the stream.
Thorson stood and eyed him for a moment before following.
Somehow he felt there was a deeper reason behind Ragnar’s choice than the man was willing to admit.
The time he had spent around Ragnar had not been long.
But it had been long enough to learn one thing.
Ragnar rarely did anything without a reason.
the two brothers and Torstein.
“Ragnar, it does not please me to say this, but what you are suggesting is impossible.
You saw how hard it was to drag the ship over the ice.
It will be impossible to do it on a mountain footpath.”
The four of them had withdrawn from the rest to deliberate on their way forward.
Ragnar had not seen it fit to begin the march down before darkness had fallen over the mountain again.
It would be tempting fate twice, as he put it.
So far they had come up without much incident, and he was hoping the journey back would be the same.
“Not if we take her apart,” Ragnar said.
Floki reacted to the statement as though Ragnar had torn his heart out with his bare hands.
His eyes remained fixed on Ragnar, waiting for the man to reveal it was a joke.
But when he realized Ragnar was serious, his eyes flared.
“Take her apart?
We would have no ship.
Then why would we have gone through all this trouble?”
Ragnar smiled, barely showing his teeth, and sat down against the side of the mountain he had been leaning on.
“I do not mean we destroy her.
We take her apart.
The mast, the hull planks, and leave the keel with only the sternpost.
Different men carry different sections.”
Floki stared at him.
“And then what?” Rollo cut in.
“Even if we somehow manage to drag it up here, it will take us even longer to put her back together.
We do not have that kind of time, Ragnar.”
“I disagree.”
He pointed toward the stream.
“Look at it.
We already have water, and the farther it flows, the more life it seems to have.
There has to be fish in there.
If so, we can restock our food while we put the ship back together.
In any case, putting a ship back together is not the same as building one from nothing.”
He looked at Floki.
“Am I wrong?”
Floki’s anger slowly subsided.
A calmer look settled over his face.
“It can be done,” he said hesitantly.
“If we manage to get the parts farther south beyond all those obstacles.”
Rollo growled in frustration.
“I am not talking about food.
Has neither of you realized that we seem to be caught between several enemies?
If this Mance Rayder truly exists, then he is just as much a threat as these crows.
The longer we stay here, the greater the chance we run into one of them.”
Ragnar looked up.
Darkness had begun to settle over the mountains, and the little view they still had of the Wall had almost completely disappeared.
“I think it is time to go back,” Ragnar said, patting his brother on the shoulder.
“Take the men back to camp and wait for me there.
I shall be back before dawn.”
Rollo looked at him.
“Where are you going?”
Ragnar smiled knowingly.
“Farther south.
I need to see this Milkwater with my own eyes,” he said, looking at the three men beside him.
“Better yet, I need to see this Bridge of Skulls.
It seems it will be the greatest obstacle once the ship is afloat.”
“And you are going by yourself?” Rollo asked.
“Ragnar, it is too great a risk.”
But Ragnar merely cocked his head.
“Great risks are what greatness demands, brother.
I will be back.”
Moving away from the group, Ragnar walked toward where the two boys, Thorson and Bjorn, were crouched, eating their rations.
“Bjorn, you will accompany your uncle back to the camp.
I will join you later.”
“Where are you going?” Bjorn asked.
Ragnar looked at his son.
“Wherever I am going, you are not coming,” he said before Bjorn could protest.
“You are,” he added, turning to Thorson.
Thorson looked up in surprise.
He had not expected that.
Even Bjorn looked at him as though it were some sort of betrayal.
“Why?
Why is he coming and not me?”
Ragnar raised an eyebrow.
“Are you questioning my decision now?”
“No, Father…”
“Then do as you are told.
No more questions.”
“Come along, boy.”
Thorson looked apologetically at his friend before grabbing his waterskin and rations and following Ragnar.
“How good are you with a bow?” Ragnar asked.
“Not an expert,” Thorson admitted.
“But I can shoot.”
“Good.”
They walked over to where several Vikings with bows were gathered.
“May I borrow your bows?”
The men exchanged a glance but did not hesitate.
Two removed their bows and quivers and handed them over.
Ragnar gave one bow to Thorson and slung the other over his own shoulder.
Then Rollo gathered the men, and the group began the descent.
Ragnar remained where he was with Thorson until the others had disappeared farther down the mountainside.
Only then did he turn south and begin following the stream.
Darkness had grown so thick that it was becoming difficult to see more than a few paces ahead.
The cold had also become equally unbearable.
Even beneath thick woollen cloaks, every movement made their joints feel as though they were cracking beneath the strain.
It was a long while before Ragnar finally spoke.
“Have you seen anything new?”
Thorson was silent for a moment.
He knew what Ragnar meant.
“No.”
“Have you tried?”
“Tried?”
Thorson looked at the man walking ahead of him.
“I do not know what to do.
The visions come when they will.
I cannot force them.”
Thorson knew, however, that he had not been completely honest with Ragnar.
His visions did not always come through dreams.
Sometimes they came through warging into animals.
He had deliberately left that part out.
Among the Vikings, those touched by such gifts were not always trusted.
“Where are we going anyway?” he finally asked after Ragnar had remained quiet for some time.
“Exploring.
I want to see just how large this Milkwater truly is.”
He was quiet for a while before continuing.
“And if we are fortunate, we might even get close enough to see the Shadow Tower.”
He pointed into the darkness where the fortress was supposed to stand.
Thorson came to a sudden halt.
“You heard the wildling.
He said that is the most heavily watched path through the mountains.”
“So he did,” Ragnar replied.
“But do you not think that is all the more reason to see it for ourselves?…
If two men cannot get close without being discovered, what do you think will happen to an entire longship full of men trying to row south?”
“It would be a massacre,” Thorson answered.
Ragnar nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Now be quick.
The faster we move, the better our chances of getting back before dawn.”
But Thorson’s mind was still occupied.
“Why did you choose me?” Thorson asked.
“You could have brought one of your more experienced men.”
Ragnar stopped and turned toward him.
There was something close to frustration in his eyes.
“I am growing tired of every man questioning my decisions.
Do you think I had not already considered that?”
Thorson merely looked at him, hoping for an actual answer.
“If you did not wish to come, you should have spoken before the others left.
As it is, it is already too late.”
Without another word, he turned and leapt across several rocks near the frozen edge of the stream.
Thorson stood and eyed him for a moment before following.
Somehow he felt there was a deeper reason behind Ragnar’s choice than the man was willing to admit.
The time he had spent around Ragnar had not been long.
But it had been long enough to learn one thing.
Ragnar rarely did anything without a reason.