Read Online The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) by Colin Taber - Free Book Online

agreed.
    Eskil
strode forward, out of the cover of the trees. He waved his men forward,
indicating for them to stand arrayed behind him just before the thicket. With a
whisper, he said, “I alone will speak until we know all there is to know. Keep
your weapons down.”
    The
others agreed.
    Eskil
took a deep breath and called out into the night, “By Odin’s grace, Thrainn, is
that you, survivor of the sea?”
    The
fading laughter coming from the hall now died.
    A
deep silence settled as they listened to the last of Eskil’s voice echo into
the night.
    The
door opened, but no one stood there revealed. The light within dimmed, as
someone in the hall worked to smother the fire.
    Finally,
a silhouette came to stand in the doorway.
    After
only a brief pause, the silhouette stepped fully into the night, with an axe in
one hand. By the light of the stars, the Godslanders could see it was indeed
the big Swede, Thrainn.
    Eskil
stood still and silent, despite his excitement at finding survivors from the
other ship. While the Godslanders might be eager, he knew that to Thrainn, the
night’s newcomers would seem to be more likely phantoms of the dead.
    They
would need to be careful.
    Thrainn
did not address Eskil or his fellows directly, although he gazed at them. He
spoke instead to his own in the hall at his back. His voice came deep and
rough, just as his hard and long years had made it. “Five figures by the trees;
they look to be Norsemen.”
    Movement
of shifting silhouettes in the doorway revealed at least three more survivors,
perhaps four, within the dim hall. Their hissing voices questioned Thrainn, who
stood with his bulk blocking the way. They also made observations as they stole
glances over his high and broad shoulders:
    “Nothing
good arrives cloaked in the dark of night.”
    “Could
there be more of them?”
    “Is
that an evil sea mist lingering around them?”
    “Can
you tell in this gloom if you know any of them?”
    Thrainn
continued to ignore Eskil as he studied him and the other Godslanders, speaking
only to answer the questions coming from those behind him. “Five of them, not
wreathed in fog or seaweed, and yes, I know their faces.”
    Steinarr
shifted with impatience, although he did nothing more than move his weight.
    Thrainn
glared at him.
    Eskil
moved his hand ever so slightly to Steinarr as he quietly let out a
disapproving hiss.
    Meanwhile,
more questions came to Thrainn from his fellows:
    “Who
is it?”
    “Who
do you know?”
    Thrainn
cleared his throat and loudly announced, “They look to be our fellow
travellers, or at least their long missing bodies.”
    Eskil
recognised the voice asking many of the questions as that of Thoromr, Thrainn’s
own son, now a man himself. Thrainn, a Swede, had married in Iceland twenty
years before and had raised a family, bringing them west to seek fresh
opportunities and claim land. He had been one of the oldest men on their
voyage, near on forty, and one with a big temper. He and his like-minded son
had made enough enemies back in Iceland to make trying their luck elsewhere a
wise choice.
    Thoromr
asked, “Who is there, who can you see?”
    “Eskil,
Torrador, Steinarr, Samr and Erik, so it seems.
    “Be
wary.”
    Thrainn
snorted in irritation, and then hissed, “Be quiet! You are acting like a
frightened girl.” He then stepped forward two more paces and called out,
“Eskil, if it be you, come forward a few steps and let me see what the night
dares deliver to the Lakeland Hall.” He lifted his axe as he spoke, adding with
menace, “And if you are a shade come crawling from the sea, or a dark spirit
that has taken his sodden corpse, also come forward so I can put an end to
you.”
    Eskil
whispered to his fellows, “Stay back.” He then slowly and steadily stepped
forward, stopping when he stood halfway between the two groups.
    Thrainn
watched him closely and then demanded, “Speak, tell me what brings you here
tonight?”
    Choosing
his words