Viking Beast: Viking Warriors Series

by de Maupassant, Emmanuelle

  I lashed out, punching his leg, then raking my nails. Wriggling one arm free, I jerked my elbow hard into his thigh, then again. With a curse, he turned me upright, and I twisted to claw his face, but I merely scratched the tough leather encasing his chest. His fingers were still pressed to my mouth, and I bit them, only to have my head shoved back violently for my trouble.

  At last he spoke and with deadly calm. “Try that again, and I’ll snap your neck.” His eyes were cold, his face one I’d never seen before—a face without emotion.

  And then I saw the flames.

  My abductor had brought me some distance, but I could see clearly that the turf of the longhouse was alight. The moon was clear once more and the scene well-lit. There were perhaps thirty men, some still tossing their torches upon the roof and through the door.

  It had happened so fast. I’d walked outside and had seen no one, but they must have been hiding behind the houses, crouching in the shadows.

  The night had filled with screaming and desperate shouts. Several emerged from the longhouse door. They were in no state to defend themselves—unarmed, disoriented, as stunned as me. Their attackers let them blunder, lurching with blinded eyes, but their weapons were already drawn.

  No!

  My own shout of warning was muffled by the hand that held me fast, fingers digging into my cheeks.

  More of our people emerged through the door, falling to the ground, gasping for breath.

  Eirik!

  I saw him, and Helka, too, coughing through the billowing smoke. The hem of Helka’s gown was alight. Eirik threw her to the grass and rolled her, sprawling across to stop the flames. He did not see the man who approached, who stood over him with a raised sword. In his wedding finery, none could doubt my husband’s status. He was the Jarl of Svolvaen.

  There was a rushing, crackling sound as the timbers beneath the turf caught light and large chunks of the outer covering fell into the space below.

  No need for moonlight now. The oil-soaked torches tossed upon our home had made quick work. The whole sky seemed to burn.

  Amidst the horrible glow, I saw the man loom over Eirik, taller than those around him. The flames illuminated his face.

  Terror struck my heart. Beneath that amber blaze, his skin was red and puckered, framed by a mane of hair that glinted copper, and his eyes were dark with hatred. With both hands, he brought his blade high and plunged it downward, piercing Eirik’s body.

  I screamed so loud, that even the iron hand upon my face could not silence my cry.

  Eirik!

  Without seeing his attacker, without chance of defending himself, he’d been struck down. The brute placed his foot on Eirik’s back, levering upward to withdraw his sword, then kicked him over so that Eirik’s eyes were upon the stars.

  If those eyes were still capable of seeing, I couldn’t tell, for there was no movement, and my heart froze.

  No! It cannot be. You’re not dead!

  Eirik!

  You must get up!

  The sob that rose in my throat choked me.

  I must go to him. Help him.

  I struggled again, knowing I had to get free. Though my arms were pinned, I kicked back against my captor’s shin.

  “Bikkja!” He spat the curse and wrenched me about, letting go only to slap me hard across the cheek.

  The world spun, and I felt the brute’s shoulder in my belly.

  “Eirik.” I tried to raise my head, to make him hear me, but there was no breath in my lungs. I could see nothing through my tears.

  We were heading away from the settlement, skirting along the edge of the trees, down toward the meadow, then cutting through branches that tore at my hair. Still, we pushed on, until I heard the river.

  Deposited on my feet once more, I found my knees wouldn’t hold me.

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Nothing made sense.

  If they would only leave me, I would curl up under the trees and close my eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t real. If I went to sleep, wouldn’t I wake later and find it all to have been a horrible dream?

  But I wasn’t to be left. There were four small boats sitting low in the glimmering water. Around us, others were slithering down the bank and jumping aboard.

  I was yanked too hard and landed on my behind. We slid together over half-rotten leaves before I was swung over the side of the last vessel and shoved into the bow.

  This was how they’d come, unseen, but from where? And with such stealth.

  For what purpose? To capture me? It made no sense.

  To destroy Svolvaen? We’d harmed no one.

  To plunder our stores? They’d taken nothing.

  I looked at the faces surrounding me—men like those who’d been feasting in our hall. Men with blood on their hands. They reeked of smoke.

  The boat was near full, and those closest surveyed me. One, whose eyes were gentler than the rest, inclined his head in my direction. “What’s this, brother? We were told to take no one. He’ll break your arm for it, or your neck.”

  “None of your business, Thoryn.” My captor sneered. “Besides, there’s different rules for me. I do as I like.”

  The other man frowned.

  “Cast away. We’re done.” The call came from the front.

  The one who sat beside me brought a length of twine from under the seat, and I watched mutely as he bound my hands.

  “Say a word or give me any trouble, and I’ll sling you over.” He pulled the final knot tight, then grinned, showing two teeth missing. “I might do it anyway, but I won’t think twice if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”

  As we cast off, I looked back, hoping I would see Eirik—wanting to believe he was unharmed and had managed, somehow, to follow.

  But he was not there.

  There was no one in the trees above us.

  The breeze carried only distant screams.

  5

  Elswyth

  July 31st, 960AD

  The boats were shallow and narrow, and the men rowed carefully. In one place, where the waterway curved, they became stuck in the mud and had to use all oars to be on their way again.

  I saw only the dark shape of the other boats ahead, and the men crouched before me, pulling steadily homeward. We passed through meadows until the flatlands became hills, and the river wound through a wooded valley.

  I was alone, and those I loved were dead. Svolvaen’s people were not mine by birth, but they had become my family. Shivering, I grasped the edges of my cloak, pulling it closed as best I could. My hands had grown quite numb from the rope.

  My eyes grew heavy from the constant sound of the splashes from the oars, but there wasn’t room to lay down or any soft place to rest my head. Nevertheless, I dozed, and woke to find us passing between steeply rising rock, the river narrower than ever. Within the scree and crevices grew overhanging trees, the branches of which oft brushed the men’s heads. Each time, they stilled their oars and lowered their shoulders so that the vessel glided silent beneath the foliage.

  High above, the moon had faded within a sky of lifting violet. We were followed, but not by human eyes. A pack of wolves leapt over the crags above, looking down. Fortunately, there was other prey. Only winter drove them to reckless hunting.

  The sun rose steadily, and my lips grew parched. My captor drank his pouch dry and refilled it from the river but pushed me away when I indicated my thirst. Only Thoryn offered me water, which I gulped gratefully until the other man snatched it away.

  At last, the chasm opened on one side, and the forest came down to meet us, bringing the sound of birdsong and the rustle of small creatures moving beneath the ferns. The men had hardly exchanged a word in all our journey, but they seemed to grow easier as the trees became sparse, smiling to one another—glad, I supposed, to be not far from their beds.

  Though my hands were tied, it appeared not to be enough for, nearing our destination, my captor knotted a second rope, which he looped about my neck. Weary to the bone, I made n
o struggle. What little fight remained within me I’d conserve for when I needed it.

  I was surprised to see the tree line give way to jagged peaks. Fierce mountains loomed above. When the first vessels threw their ropes ashore, the men disembarked without delay. One stood taller than the rest, his shoulders broader, and his hair flaming red and wild, reaching past his shoulders. He barked at two who’d been waiting on the landing pier and, as he turned, a new wave of sickness engulfed me. The left side of his face was puckered with coarse scars. It was the man who’d killed Eirik.

  Instinctively, I ducked low, not wishing him to see me, for nothing good could come from drawing the attention of one so brutal.

  My captor waited until all others had left our boat before lifting me onto the platform, then tugged on the rope tied about my neck, leading me uphill. I could hardly keep up, stumbling behind, but he seemed satisfied to let the others outpace us.

  It was not until we breeched the summit of the meadow that I smelled the salt air and saw the fjord below—a strip of glittering silver with mountains dominating its far side. The settlement was far larger than Svolvaen, with buildings sprawling the full width of its harbour. Most of the men peeled away, downward to those dwellings, until there was only my captor and I, climbing still, away from the main bustle of the town, the forested slopes to our left.

  Ahead of us was a homestead—a building large enough, I guessed, to hold several hundred people, and newly thatched, the reeds not yet weathered. There were pens and byres for livestock; a horse was being led from its stable; someone was hanging fish in the smokehouse; and women were churning butter in the dairy. From one building came the distinctive smell of skins being tanned—rich and earthy, and slightly sweet. From another, a blacksmith’s hammer rang clear.

  It seemed a wonder to me that, while the heart of Svolvaen had been destroyed, and my own with it, here, life continued as normal.

  I expected us to approach the longhouse, for I would be just a thrall, brought to serve. If I were lucky, I’d be permitted something to eat and drink, at least, before being given work to do.

  “Not there.” Seeing the direction in which I looked, he tugged harder on the rope, chafing my neck as he guided me onward, further up the hill.

  There was another hut, high on the headland, set apart. Coming closer, I saw that it commanded a view not only of the fjord and the town but the far mountains and the open water to the north, dotted with small islands. It was a watchpoint, with a brazier upon a great pole, ready to be lit in warning.

  Three men sat, their weapons laid to one side, intent on some game. They looked up as we approached.

  “What’s this, Sweyn?” called one. “Entertainment?” He grinned, pulling on his beard.

  Sweyn merely grunted and gave the door a kick. I hesitated, but the rope was firm about my neck. He jerked it maliciously, hauling me over the threshold, and I swallowed a sob. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me, and my neck was rubbed raw. I was hungry, thirsty, frightened, and sick.

  The light from the open door revealed a bench along one side and a large chest, bedding piled in one corner. Sweyn pulled on the rope, hand over hand, until there was no distance between us.

  His face bore an expression of delighted cruelty as he reached for my breast, squeezing roughly, thumbing my nipple. “Fine clothes for a fine lady.” He pushed closer. “And you’re just as fine underneath, I’d say.”

  I tried to twist away, but the rope around my neck made that impossible. I stood very still, aware of his sweat and the sourness of his breath.

  He slipped his hand inside the wide neck of my gown—calloused fingers coarse across my soft skin, taking possession of what he now thought was his. He took my breast into his palm, kneading the flesh, then found the point of my nipple and pinched it.

  I did my best to remain expressionless, refusing to show my fear. Instead, I spoke as forcefully as I could. “Why did you come to Svolvaen? Why did you take me?”

  “Because I could. What does it matter?” With a leering smile, he removed his hand, then snapped, “Take it off. I want you naked when we’re fucking.”

  “I won’t.”

  Grasping my face, he turned it upward. “We’ll take this outside. You won’t be so haughty when you’ve three holding you down. I’m a generous man. Once I’ve filled you, they can each take their turn. Then we’ll see if you’re worth keeping alive.”

  “No!” The word emerged strangled, and he laughed, his eyes alight with malicious mirth.

  I was alone, with no one to help me. No one to care whether I lived or died—and I wanted to live. Not just for the sake of the child I carried, but for myself.

  If I could run fast enough, past the men outside, I might reach the homestead. There, someone would take pity on me. I’d be at their mercy, but the women of the house wouldn’t let them use me as a whore. This I told myself, summoning what strength remained inside me. Knowing I’d have only one chance, I drew up my knee.

  Sweyn must have sensed my intention, for he recoiled as I acted, managing to turn half away, so that I caught him only partially in the groin, but it was enough to wind him. Cursing, he released me and staggered backward.

  With a hammering heart, I ran. He would be only a few steps behind, and I would feel his fist for what I’d done. Blindly, I raced for the door, lifting my hem to avoid falling. But I must have misjudged, for the doorway grew dark and I collided with a hard wall. A wall standing three heads above me, wearing a leather breast plate with an axe hanging from its belt. A wall of pure muscle, whose hands had grasped my shoulders to keep me from toppling.

  My head fell back, and I lost all power to move.

  It was the demon, his wild hair a fiery mane. The side of his face was scarred. His left eye had barely healed. The burns were recent but, long ago, some blade had cut deep across his cheek, leaving a gash through his beard.

  Unblinking, he looked down at me, and I was drawn into his eyes. Even in that dim light, I saw how unusual they were—green and gold. There was power in those eyes, as if he might demand anything, and others would obey.

  I witnessed his surprise at the way I stared at him, and his grasp tightened, as if he were unsure that I was real. His voice rose deep from his chest, rasping, as if it were difficult for the sound to emerge from his throat.

  “I commanded that there be no prisoners.”

  I couldn’t see the brute I’d been fleeing from, but I heard the shuffle of his feet.

  “The gods threw her easily in my path, Jarl. They meant for me to take her.”

  In reply, the red demon touched the ivory brooch on the bodice of my gown. He surveyed the rope about my wrists and the thick noose hanging from my neck. “Take as many bed thralls as your cock needs, Sweyn, but not this woman.”

  My heart beat strangely. Was I to be saved, after all?

  And then my blood turned to ice, for those eyes, so intense, were upon mine again.

  “It is I who will own her—for I am owed a debt.”

  6

  Elswyth

  August 1st, 960AD

  I received a mug of buttermilk, gulping it down greedily, and a hunk of bread. With my hunger appeased, my will was restored.

  More than once, I’d faced death, but still I was here. If the gods had a plan for me, I was ready to hear it. For some reason, I’d been brought into the hands of this murderer; the man who’d killed my husband, who must have ordered the torching of our longhouse.

  The remembrance of it filled me with a desire to empty my stomach, but I needed to be stronger than that. The sorrow that filled me was already turning to anger—a more useful emotion to harness, for it might keep me alive.

  The jarl had commanded that I be washed, and so I’d been brought to the bath-house. The thralls had not looked at their master as he gave them his orders, nor had they wished to look at me, at first.

  The hut was large enough to house a family but contained a great wooden tub, braced like a barrel. I’d neve
r seen the like of it, nor the manner in which it was filled. Above the fire pit, the cauldron was suspended on chains, hung from a braced rod of metal, and a long spout emerged from its side. Those who’d brought me inside had only to push the lower half of the bowl for it to tip water into the tub.

  It must have taken eight cauldrons’ worth to have brought the water to its current level. The bath had not been intended for me, of that I was certain. A table stood beside the tub, upon which rested linens and soap.

  The two women helped me to undress and to climb the steps, holding my hands as I lowered myself into the steaming water. Gradually, they grew braver, and I saw them glance one to the other and back to me.They’d seen the slight roundedness of my belly, the distinctive curve sitting low. Eirik had thought me only to be eating well, but I could see they knew better.

  I must gain their trust. Perhaps they’ll know a way for me to escape.

  Or, if I were to remain and lived long enough to see the babe’s birth, they might find a place of safety for the child to be reared. I didn’t want to think of that. I couldn’t think of it—for such a thing seemed too distant and too sad with all that had happened in the past day and night.

  But I needed them, so I smiled as they scrubbed my back and tipped my head for them to wash my hair. I murmured my thanks and asked their names and from where they’d come. They only shrugged at that. Both had been born here—Thirka and Ragerta—and had been slaves, always.

  The name of this place? Skálavík.

  I fought down my fear when I heard it.

  Only two days ago, Eirik had told me his tale, of the dark deeds of Beornwold of Skálavík. But this jarl, the demon, wasn’t Beornwold.

  I wracked my memory. Months ago, I’d listened as Gunnolf had plotted the alliance that would strengthen Svolvaen. Eirik had suggested marriage between Helka and the new jarl of Skálavík. She’d protested vehemently, but Gunnolf had dismissed the idea anyway, for the jarl was newly wedded, he’d said.