Wolves of Wagria: Olaf's Saga Book 3: Olaf's Saga

By Eric Schumacher

For fans of Bernard Cornwell and Conn Iggulden comes the historical tale of Olaf Tryggvason and his adventures in the battle-scarred kingdom of Wagria.

It is AD 972. Olaf Tryggvason and his oath-sworn protector, Torgil, are once again on the move. They have left the Rus kingdom and now travel the Baltic Sea in search of plunder and fame. But a fateful storm lands them on the Vendish coastline in a kingdom called Wagria (present-day Holstein).

There, they find themselves caught between the aggression of the Danes, the political aspirations of the Wagrian lords, and the shifting politics in Saxland. Can they survive or will they become just one more casualty of kingly ambitions? Find out in this harrowing sequel to the best-selling Forged by Iron and Sigurd's Swords.

Praise for Wolves of Wagria
"Wolves of Wagria...holds its own against the likes of Cornwell, Scarrow, Iggulden, Donald and Low." – The Niche Reader

"... an outstanding example of what an historical novel should be." – Preston Holtry, author of the ARRIUS Trilogy and the STRABO series

"A thrilling continuation of a riveting series." – C.J. Adrien, author of The Saga of Hasting the Avenger

"Mr. Schumacher's books are the best I have read of northern fictional history." – Amazon reader

"Bravo and five stars!!!" – Brook Allen, award-winning author of the Antonius Trilogy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bodn Books
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223249740

Book preview

PART I

By wandering Saga-man or Scald;

Heimskringla is the volume called;

And he who looks may find therein

The story that I now begin.

The Saga of King Olaf

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

1

Holmgard, Gardariki, Late Spring, AD 972

A crowd had gathered within the muddy courtyard of the old borg that we called Holmgard. Like me, the throng was there for the duel. But while those in the crowd chattered and muttered in almost giddy anticipation, I stood in silence. 

In front of me, my friend and charge, Olaf, paced in the dueling ground, his breath gathering in the cold before his face. Across from him stood one of Prince Vladimir's warriors, a bear of a man named Hastein, who had publicly accused Olaf of sleeping with the prince's wife and earning his position as the head of her guard with his prowess in bed. To protect the princess's reputation and his own, Olaf had challenged the man to a duel. And so here I stood, recently returned from a bloody campaign in Bolgaraland to find myself in the midst of a puddle-pocked yard packed with warriors thirsty for a fight. And, mayhap, a chance to earn some easy coin.

I glanced up at the dais that lay beside the dueling ground. Prince Vladimir, who was now a teen, scowled beneath his dark brows. Though it had never been proven that Olaf was lying with his wife, the rumors were enough to harm the prince's reputation and his pride. He wanted Olaf dead, and that truth was etched in the dark frown on his face. It mattered not that Vladimir kept a flock of his own whores, just as his father had.  

By his side sat his bewitching wife, Olava, with her white-blond hair cascading over her dark sable coat, a visible grimace of concern on her thin face. While Olaf had denied his indiscretions to me and others, I sensed he was lying. He may have been a talented fighter, but he was also a risk taker, and I doubted he could reject the seductive allure of the blond beauty that was Olava, especially if it meant an elevation of his station here in the Rus kingdom, which we Northmen called Gardariki. And climb he had. I had been on campaign in the South for two winters, and in that time, he had ascended to the highest ranks of Olava's household guard. Part of that, I knew, was due to Olaf's popularity, for his way with words, his courage, and his weapons-craft had always won men to his side. I doubted little that Olava's guards served him with reluctance. But it was hard to ignore the rumors, which had reached my ears as soon as I had returned. If those words had bothered me, it was hard to fathom how much they rankled the prince.

Why do you fight with armor, Hastein? Do you fear my blades? Olaf's words tore me from my thoughts. He stood in his leather breeks with only a rough tunic on his torso. He had woven his amber hair and beard into tight braids. In each hand, he carried a stabbing sword, or seax. Unless he fought in a shield wall, he never carried a shield. He preferred the freedom of movement his two blades afforded him. Though he was only in his twentieth spring, there was not a man more gifted at fighting simultaneously with two hands than Olaf. 

Still, I had my misgivings. A man did not become a prince's household warrior by luck. Hastein was plenty experienced, and unlike Olaf, he was taking no chances. He stood in his chain-linked byrnie that reached to his mid-thigh. On his head, he wore a helmet and carried in his hands a shield and a hand axe. A seax hung from his belt. Fully armored and weapon-rich, he would be a hard man to kill. 

Do not toy with him, I shouted into Olaf's ear over the cries of the mob. Finish him quickly and be done with this. 

Olaf glanced at me, and his lips twisted into that mischievous grin of his. How many times had I seen that grin, and how many times had it led to some misadventure that landed us in trouble? It told me that I had the right of it –– Olaf did not intend merely to fight Hastein. He intended to do something more, though just what, I knew not, and that worried me.

Olaf, I warned, knowing in my heart that Olaf would do as he wanted. Just as he always had. Bull-headed and bold. That was Olaf. Some would call him foolhardy, but I had known him since he was a small lad, and I knew better. Olaf genuinely believed the gods had great plans for him and so would protect him in his pursuits, whatever they might be. Though I was not so willing to accept that belief, I had a hard time thinking otherwise. He was often the first to rush into battle and rarely did he come away with more than a scratch.

He walked over to me and smacked my right shoulder. I winced, for I had been wounded in Bolgaraland on that shoulder and the wound was still tender. Do not fear, Torgil, he said to me and winked.

I am not afraid, I growled, then glanced to my left, where my lord, Sigurd, stood. He was Olaf's maternal uncle, yet even he knew it was pointless to instruct his nephew. So instead, he stood silently and grimly, burly arms crossed over his thick chest as he waited for the duel to begin.

When we were lads, Olaf's father, Trygvi, had ruled a county in our homeland called Vingulmark, but he had been treacherously killed by his adversary Harald Eriksson, the man who now called himself king of all of the Northmen. My father had taken us boys; Olaf's mother, Astrid; and two of her maidservants, and fled east in the hope of connecting with Astrid's brother Sigurd, who lived in Gardariki. Our flight had not been easy. One of the maidservants had died at the hands of bandits. Estlanders then captured us on the East Sea, killing my father, selling Olaf's mother, and turning Olaf; the remaining maidservant, Turid; and me into thralls for the remainder of our childhood. Only by luck, or mayhap the pity of the gods, had Olaf's uncle Sigurd found us and brought us east to Holmgard. That was five summers ago. 

Before Trygvi had been killed, I had sworn an oath to him to protect his son Olaf. It was a duty I took seriously despite my sometimes-uneasy relationship with the headstrong lad. And it was a duty I had been unable to perform since Olaf had joined the ranks of Princess Olava's household guard. He had seen it as an opportunity for promotion, as I have said. But now he was in trouble, and I was powerless to protect him. 

Prince Vladimir rose and stepped to the edge of the dais, drawing me from my thoughts. A calm settled over the crowd as the warriors turned their faces to the young man. 

We have gathered to witness the duel of Hastein and Olaf. They accuse each other of lies, so we shall let their blades and the gods discover the truth. It shall be a duel to the death. Let no man offer assistance to the challengers. The lad's hard eyes scanned the crowd, then focused on the dueling ground, which was cordoned off with rope. Olaf. Hastein. Prepare to fight.

Make it quick, I called to Olaf one last time, then patted his broad shoulder.

The combatants settled into their defensive stances, and the crowd's furor rose to a fevered pitch. The princess sat straighter in her chair. My nerves twisted my gut.

Fight! roared Prince Vladimir.

Olaf and Hastein slogged through the mud toward each other and circled, silent beneath the din of the crowd. Olaf poked with his right blade, testing his foe's reactions. Vladimir's man took the poke on his shield and countered with a feint, forcing Olaf away. Hastein pursued, coming at his victim quickly, for with his armor and shield, he had the advantage of protection. Olaf tried to bob back to his left but found Hastein's axe blocking his path. With the rope behind him and Hastein closing fast, Olaf took the only option open to him: he went on the offensive. 

I have seen warriors fight and have done plenty of fighting myself, but never have I witnessed an assault of blades like that delivered by Olaf. His hands moved faster than I could track with my eye, forcing Hastein to defend himself as best he could. But it was not good enough. By the end of the attack, he'd felt the kiss of Olaf's seaxes on either arm and his left shoulder. None of the strikes were hard enough to break the chains of Hastein's armor, but I do not think Olaf intended them to be. This was his warning to Hastein. He was telling his foe what was to come.

The crowd howled, though whether in delight or dismay was hard to tell. Olaf backed away and gave Hastein time to collect himself. 

Come on, Hastein, he urged. The day is growing late, and I am growing thirsty. Do not prolong ––

Quick as a lightning strike, Hastein raised his axe and tossed it at Olaf's chest. I had not expected that. Nor, I think, had Olaf, who had not yet finished his taunt. His blue eyes went wide as his body twisted to avoid the twirling blade. Later I would recall the collective gasp that shot from the mouths of Olaf's friends, including me. Olaf twisted further as the blade inched closer, then sailed past his torso by a breadth of a hair, if that. Olaf pitched backward into the mud just as the axe twirled into the scattering crowd. 

Hastein yanked his seax from its scabbard and charged. Olaf used the momentum of his fall to roll over his shoulder and rise. As he came to his feet, Hastein stabbed with his seax, but Olaf was faster and caught Hastein's blade between his own. Hastein brought his shield in from the left, meaning to ram Olaf with its metal boss, but Olaf spun around the blow and whipped the seax in his left hand across the neck of Hastein, just under the edge of his helmet. The move happened so fast that not even Hastein knew what happened until the blood began to flow from his wound.

I will kill you, Olaf, Hastein roared as he charged again.

Olaf could have killed him then, but he did not. Instead, he dodged away and let the prince's warrior swing at the spot where Olaf had been. Again and again, the man rushed, and again and again, Olaf evaded. 

Kill him! the crowd pleaded, especially Hastein's comrades, who could not abide the mockery they were seeing.

But Olaf did not listen. His mind was set, and he would finish Hastein how he believed Hastein deserved to be finished. You mocked me, Hastein, he called to his foe. Now it is you who shall be mocked.

Blood shrouded Hastein's left shoulder and chest, yet still he came. The gods curse you, Olaf, he spat as he charged. Only this time, when he missed, his legs faltered, and he fell to the mud on his hands and knees.

Kill him! the crowd called, and even I joined the refrain. Beside me, Sigurd bit his lip.

Kill me, Hastein pleaded as his blood dripped from his body.

But Olaf did not. He stood back and let the life drain, drop by drop, from his enemy. When Hastein eventually collapsed to his back, Olaf kicked his blade away. The crowd gasped. Hastein's eyes went wide. A warrior needed his blade in the afterlife. To deny him that was beyond callous – it was heartless. 

Olaf set his jaw and looked on grimly as his foe's blood pooled in the mud. Around him, the crowd had gone silent. 

A glib tongue that goes on chattering sings to its own harm, Olaf spoke into the stillness. It was one of my father's favorite sayings. He spoke it when, as boys, Olaf or I said something foolish. Here, in this place, it sounded far more brutal. Let everyone here know that I stand innocent of Hastein's charges, he called to the crowd. Then, he spat on Hastein's cold corpse and walked over to me.

I stood with my jaw slack, glad to still have a living friend but shocked by his cruelty. I had seen it before, and each time, it surprised me.

What is the matter? asked Olaf when he reached me and his uncle. His face was beslimed with mud and gore, giving him the look of a man who had just emerged from Hel's dark depths.

You should have killed him quickly, I managed to say. Like my father before me, I had a temper, and I was struggling to keep it in check. That you did not, and that you denied him his seax at the end, will have consequences.

Olaf glanced over his shoulder at Hastein's comrades, who were dragging his corpse away. They do not have the courage to fight me.

It is not them I worry about, I said with a nod at the dais.

Olaf glanced at Vladimir and Olava, who were retreating hand in hand to the main hall of the borg, and frowned. Though Olaf had prevailed, he had crossed the prince. And if Vladimir was anything like his father, there would be a price to pay for that offense. It seems I cannot win. 

Lord Sigurd was also frowning at his nephew. I suspect this is not the last of it. Olaf – go to your men and keep your lips tight. He nodded at a group of Olava's household guards. Do not draw attention to yourself, and if you are lucky, mayhap this affair will be forgotten. He then turned and marched toward Holmgard's gates.

With a parting glance at Olaf, I followed Sigurd from the borg.

2

We returned to Sigurd's hall, which lay an easy hike north from Holmgard's walls. The hall stood in the center of a larger estate and was surrounded by the structures one might expect a successful lord to possess: a barn, storage sheds, a large boat house, a barracks, and even a bath house. Sigurd had done well for himself in Gardariki and his estate stood as testament to his wealth.

Sigurd's household retinue, or hird, greeted us as we came through his gate. There were nearly forty men in all, as well as one woman: Turid. Though she stood among the others, it was impossible not to notice her striking beauty in the midst of Sigurd’s brutes. Long ago, Turid had fled the North with me and Olaf. Now, the tall, lithe redhead was one of Sigurd's warriors as well as my lover.

I went to her and planted a kiss on her freckled cheek as my hand moved to her rounded belly. How is our treasure today?

There was concern in her ice-blue eyes as she responded. Same as always. Feisty. Now, tell me of Olaf.

I raised my hands to calm her. It was not much of a duel. Just another chance for Olaf to mock an opponent.

She grinned slightly. So he is hale?

Aye. He is hale.

She allowed herself a slight grin. That is good. I was worried.

Another man might have been jealous of her concern, but I knew her questions did not stem from attraction. Theirs was the relationship of siblings, not lovers, built over the nearly two decades we had known each other and hardened through the trials we had faced together in the Estland swamps and the battlefields in and beyond the borders of Gardariki. 

As was I, I admitted.

Stop your fondling, you two. 

I looked over at Ulrik, Sigurd's scar-faced second-in-command. Am I not allowed to greet my woman? I called to him half in jest.

He snarled. You have greeted her. Now get you gone. And you, Turid. Have you no better place to be?

Everyone knew of our relationship and of the child that grew in Turid's belly, yet Sigurd did not like having his men distracted by our public displays of tenderness. It was Ulrik's job to ensure Sigurd's commands were followed. Even so, I grinned at Turid, who returned the gesture.

Torgil! Ulrik roared at me again.

I pecked Turid's cheek and made my exit. I'll see you tonight in the hall.

That evening, we paraded into the warm, hearth-lit interior of Sigurd's hall for the nightly meal and took our seats on the benches that lined his long eating tables. In the center of the hall, a low fire crackled in a stone hearth over which a cauldron hung. It had rained that afternoon, and I welcomed the fire's warmth on my damp clothes. 

Turid worked her way to my side with a barley cake in her hand and straddled the bench beside me. She was offering me a piece when the doors to the hall creaked open and the flames sputtered in their sconces. Necks craned to see who had entered, and voices once loud with cheer fell silent. My own jaw slackened.

Well, this is a surprise! called Sigurd into the silence. Welcome to my hall, Nephew.

Olaf stood near the entrance with two of his warriors at his side. He had not visited Sigurd's hall since joining Princess Olava's ranks, and so we sat in silence, wondering why he was there and whether he was on the princess's errand or a personal mission.

Thank you for your welcome, Uncle, called Olaf over our heads, and please excuse my sudden intrusion. I hope I am not interrupting anything.

Not at all. Please come in, Sigurd beckoned. You are among friends here. Be welcome.

Ulrik rose then. Still full of surprises, I see, he growled at Olaf. 

A predictable warrior is a dead warrior, countered Olaf with the slightest of grins on his face.

Ha! Ulrik laughed, remembering the saying he often used in our training. So he is. Ulrik strode to Olaf and bear-hugged him. 

The older warriors rose and greeted their former comrade then. The newer members of Sigurd's hird were warier of the young man they knew only by name, reputation, and his kinship to Lord Sigurd. I could see from the reticence in their expressions that they knew not what to make of his presence. 

Turid and I joined the veterans, though I less enthusiastically than Turid, who had not seen Olaf in two springs. She gave Olaf a grand hug as I looked on, then kissed him on his furry cheek. He laughed and held her before him. It is wonderful to see you, Turid. It has been far too long. Torgil tells me you fought like a she-wolf among the Bolgars. It does not surprise me. Unlike me, Olaf had a way with words and wielded them with the same skill he wielded his weapons. And what is this? Olaf motioned to her belly with a grand smile.

Turid blushed and grabbed my hand. We had not the time nor place to tell you, she said. 

We? He looked at me, and the grin stretched. Well. This is good news indeed! He draped his arms over both of our shoulders. Worthy of celebration, eh you men of Sigurd? he called to the crowd. 

The men cheered, and even the younger warriors brightened. Olaf laughed at their reaction, bathing himself in their attention. I, on the other hand, blushed. I did not like having all eyes upon me.

At the far end of the hall, Sigurd called for us to sit as he, too, took his place in his chair. It was a massive oaken affair recently carved from an old tree by the hands of our comrade, Sveinn. It had taken four of us to carry it into the hall. Sigurd hefted the silver goblet he held in his hand and peered through the smoke at his nephew. He spoke when we were seated. It is no secret that you vex me mightily, Olaf. Lord Sigurd grinned, and we laughed. I jostled Olaf's big shoulder, for I understood more than most the humor and the truth in Sigurd's words. Olaf's courage and impulsiveness were traits both admirable and taxing, especially for men like me, who preferred to strategize before rushing into danger. But you also make me proud, Sigurd continued. Today's duel was a masterful display of swordwork and one which we will be recounting for generations to come. To you, Olaf, and your blades. Sköl!

Sköl! we echoed.

I learned it all from you, Uncle! called Olaf good-naturedly, which was flattering, but not exactly true. My father, and Olaf's father before him, had gifted Olaf with much of his skill. Sigurd had merely refined it.

Sigurd's red beard bent downward in a frown as he studied his kin. You most certainly did not. I, for one, prefer the protection of a shield. But more important, I prefer to kill my enemies quickly, not toy with them like a cat with a rat. Sigurd paused for dramatic effect, and the room waited expectantly to see where the thread of his words might lead. Then, a smile crept onto his face and the room's mood lifted with it. You are a marvel, Nephew. May the gods take note. Gerd! he called then. Have you something for my hungry warriors?

As if she had known his words were coming, the aging servant and her helpers rushed forth with platters of food and laid them on the tables, but Olaf and I were not given a chance to eat. No sooner had I grabbed a slice of buttered bread than the scarred face of Ulrik appeared between us. 

Come, he said. Lord Sigurd wishes to speak with you two.

We glanced at each other, then stood and followed Ulrik into an anterior room hidden by a long drape that hung behind Sigurd's oaken chair. The room doubled as his sleeping chamber but had plenty of room for the three chairs that had been set up for us. Sigurd already sat in one of them. Ulrik motioned us to the two remaining chairs and left the room.

Sigurd held up a pitcher of beer and offered to fill our cups as we sat. Olaf held his out to Sigurd. I did not, for I had never been much of a drinker. I did not like how it altered my mood and emptied my memory. Sigurd settled the pitcher on the table before him, then folded his fingers around his cup. As you know well, Olaf, surprises make me wary. Tell me: to what do we owe the honor of your presence? Are you on the princess's errand, or have you come of your own accord?

Olaf sipped from his cup, then turned his eyes to the liquid within it. I have no delicate way of saying this, so I will just state it: I have been released from my duties.

I blinked in astonishment at the confession, though I suppose I should not have been surprised. The duel had shown us just how tenuous his position had been. 

The request came from Prince Vladimir, who made his displeasure with me known quite clearly, Olaf spoke into the ensuing silence. I embarrassed him with the rumors and embarrassed him further with the mockery I made of Hastein. He wishes me gone before the next full moon. Olaf grinned, albeit sheepishly. Failure was not common for him, and I sensed that this admission pained him to relay to us.

Sigurd scratched his beard as his eyes studied his nephew. I am sorry to hear of this, but it is not surprising. You are lucky he did not simply kill you. Olaf made to defend himself, but Sigurd held up a hand to stop him. Let me finish. Sigurd's voice tolerated no retort, and Olaf acquiesced with a frown. The prince has been gracious in his offer. You would be a fool not to take it.

I intend to, Olaf grumbled.

That is wise, said Sigurd, whose eyes had not left his nephew's face. So have you come merely to tell us this news, or is there something more to your appearance? 

Olaf's eyes shifted from his uncle to me and back again. I have come to ask for your help.

Which is? Sigurd prompted.

A ship. For which I will repay you, he added quickly. I have some of the coin now. 

I glanced at Sigurd, who was frowning. He had four ships in his boathouse. Three were warships and one, a trader. What do you intend to do with this ship? Sigurd finally asked. Will you return to your home in the North?

No. I will go a-viking, Olaf said boldly and smiled. To acquire more wealth, so that I can repay you.

I see, said Sigurd, his face unreadable.

I would like you and Torgil to join me, Olaf continued, but when his uncle did not reply, he added: Think of what we could do together, Uncle. Of the plunder we could take...

My gut twisted as my thoughts instantly flew to Turid. She was in no condition to go raiding, yet I could not simply abandon her here on Sigurd's estate to give birth on her own.

Sigurd sighed. I appreciate your offer, Nephew, but I have other plans. As you know, I serve the prince for several more moons. When my service is at an end, my desire is to see my home again, not to spend my days on a ship's deck, robbing farms and chasing sheep. I yearn to return to my father and my brothers in the North, at least for a spell.

This was news to