Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson Page B

Arinbjorn recognized the second as the gravelly voice of Thorgrim Ulfsson, who apparently wished to speak with him and was apparently meeting some resistance from Hrafn, as was proper for a guard.
      “Hrafn!” Arinbjorn called. “It’s all right. Thorgrim may have leave to enter.” Arinbjorn heard a grunt, feet shuffling, and Thorgrim stepped into the marquee. He looked irritated.
      “Thorgrim! Forgive me.” Arinbjorn stood and held out his hand and Thorgrim took it. “Hrafn was only doing his duty, you know. I should have told him you always have leave to speak to me.”
      Thorgrim grunted. “Not sure why a guard is needed. You’re surrounded by three hundred of your fellows.”
      “A man has enemies, you know,” Arinbjorn said, “even among his friends.” It was a well-practiced answer. “Sit, please,” he added, gesturing toward a camp stool.
      Thorgrim sat, cast an eye around the interior of the marquee as if he had never seen its like before. Arinbjorn sat on the edge of the bed. Thorgrim cleared his throat. He was clearly having difficulty finding the words. That was not like him. He usually doled out his words sparingly, but with a confident authority. Arinbjorn waited.
      “Here’s the truth, Arinbjorn,” he said at last. “I have these dreams, have since I first came to manhood, and I can see things in the dreams. Tonight I had such a dream, and I saw that the men-at-arms at Cloyne left. They marched off north, leaving the town all but undefended.”
      Arinbjorn nodded and thought about the words. “These are just dreams, you say? I’ve heard tell of this. Take no offense, please, but men talk of you. They talk of the Night Wolf.”
      “Dreams, yes…I don’t know,” Thorgrim snapped, his tone seeming to be harsher than he intended. He swallowed, began again. “I don’t know if they are dreams, or what they are. The point is, what I see is the truth, and I saw the men leave Cloyne. We should attack the ringfort now, the whole army. It would be entirely a surprise, and we would take them with ease.”
      “The men may be gone, but the walls are still there.”
      “That’s something else I saw. Another way in, a secret door. I think I could get them to open it. Me and a dozen picked men. We could go in through the door and open the main gate, let the rest in.”
      “That’s madness! You’d be killed for certain.”
      “Not if we were fast, and the rest of the army was distracting them. And if I had the right dozen men.”
      Arinbjorn stared through the flap of the tent, out into the dark, and thought. Thorgrim may command respect, but he commanded no men, no ship. He had no real authority. It was up to him, Arinbjorn, to act or not.
      “Obviously, Thorgrim, I cannot order the army to do anything,” he said. “For this voyage we have sworn allegiance to Hoskuld Iron-skull.”
      “Oh course. But if you wake Iron-skull and the others, explain the situation, they will follow your advice. I will speak with them, if you wish.”
      Arinbjorn considered all the implications of what Thorgrim was saying, all the possible ways that this thing could play out. If Thorgrim was right, and Arinbjorn spearheaded it, than he was a hero. If Thorgrim was wrong, Arinbjorn would be leading the army to destruction. Humiliation at best, death at worst.
      Was Thorgrim to be trusted? The man clearly believed what he said, but even he did not know where this came from, if it was a dream, a vision from the gods, what it was. A weak twig on which to hang the fate of an army.
      “No, Thorgrim, forgive me, but I cannot support this.” Arinbjorn held up his hand to silence Thorgrim’s protest. “I believe you. I do. Personally. But it is too much to ask Hoskuld Iron-skull and the others to risk everything on your…dream.”
      Thorgrim looked into his eyes. He did not say anything. Arinbjorn found it particularly disconcerting.
      “You understand, I’m sure,” Arinbjorn