The Red Oath

by Jerry Autieri

  Tears ran down Saleet’s face, which had shaded to deep red. He backed up but the scout behind blocked him once more.

  “When will this take place?”

  “I don’t know. Tomorrow. Prince Kalim wants a fast end to this. The men were not expecting a long siege.”

  Yngvar imagined Valgerd captive. She was a strong woman, but the threat of torture and death would be too much for even a veteran warrior. He smiled at Saleet.

  “You have been honest. So I grant you freedom.”

  Saleet looked up, astonished. “I am free?”

  “As of this moment,” Yngvar said, spreading his hands. “Enjoy it.”

  No one moved. The Byzantines stared curiously at Yngvar. He winked at them. Then he nodded to Gyna, speaking Frankish.

  “You had to give him up once. Now that he is free, maybe you will recapture him?”

  She smiled wickedly.

  “Wait!” Saleet shouted. He looked all around, but found no one made way. Alasdair continued to stare blankly, heedless of anyone else. “You said I was free. What did you tell her?”

  “I told her you were freed. Why are you standing here now that you are free? Some here have no love for you, and might catch you again. You had best run if you hope to enjoy your freedom.”

  “This is not what you promised. I should be—”

  But Gyna leapt atop him. Despite her swollen and weak knee, she still drove it into the wiry Arab’s guts. He crumpled with a yelp. The Byzantines laughed.

  “Well, well,” Gyna said, drawing her dagger to Saleet’s neck. “I never thought to hold you in my arms again, my love. But here we are. Now to taste your blood, you fucking rat.”

  Saleet screamed.

  Gyna slowly pushed her dagger into his neck. Saleet’s back arched and he convulsed with pain. She stood back, leaving her dagger embedded in Saleet’s neck.

  “Well, that’s my cut. You all have your chance now. Better be fast before he bleeds out.”

  Thorfast was next, using his sword to hack Saleet’s right hand off. “So you can’t stab a man in the back in the next world.”

  “You killed my friends,” Bjorn said as he stepped up to the convulsing Saleet. The Byzantines clapped and shouted. Bjorn smile indulgently, then lifted Saleet up with his left hand. He hung limp. His right side covered in dark, fresh blood.

  “And you hurt my woman.”

  He rammed his dagger to its hilt through Saleet’s gut. He winced, but hardly expelled a breath. The dagger in his neck was like a stopper on an overflowing bottle. Blood leaked around it. Saleet’s eyes rolled back. Bjorn threw him down like an old doll.

  “Bastard’s dead already. Sorry, lads.” He looked to Yngvar and Alasdair.

  “I’m glad for it, though you made his death too easy. Let us remember to give Kalim worse. He must know each of us has taken our revenge.”

  Now he turned to Alasdair. Everyone did. He put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

  “We won’t let this happen to her. I will see to it myself.”

  Alasdair looked up, taut lines pulling his mouth flat. He simply nodded.

  “We’ll get her,” Gyna said. “I’m going with you. Ewald is too. We’re like shadows. Well, you two are. But we’ll get her out from under Kalim’s power. It’s just like when we freed your cousin. Remember? We can do it.”

  “There wasn’t an army surrounding my cousin,” Alasdair said. His voice was dry but calm. He continued to stare as if he were too tired to fix his eyes on anyone.

  “I will go as well,” Yngvar said. “You are distraught. I know I cannot convince you to stay away. But you cannot concentrate like this, and one mistake could be costly.”

  “If you’re sneaking into the camp,” Thorfast said. “Then why not just kill Kalim?”

  “No,” Yngvar said, suddenly whirling on Thorfast. “Kalim must live. That is of great importance. If we kill him now, then Rashaad will take his men against Pozzallo and all the others will be killed or captured and our ship lost. Kalim must be forced to go to Licata and take Rashaad with him. Only then will our plans succeed. For now we will save Valgerd and reach Pozzallo. The rest of you, go on as we have discussed. We will join you in Licata, bringing our ship and perhaps One-Eye’s as well.”

  “Well, four of you ain’t going to sneak into camp,” Bjorn said. “And Gyna’s knee is bothering her. How’s that all going to work?”

  Yngvar rubbed his neck.

  “I will think of something. For now, let’s rest. When the moon rises, we must all begin our tasks. You will need two days to reach Licata. Then two more days must pass before the word reaches these lines. So I will need to keep Pozzallo standing for a week. When we see Kalim leave, we will seize our chance.”

  Yngvar conferred with Sergius on the plan. The veteran scout nodded throughout.

  “Word will get back faster. Ship travel is not even a day. You can be sure plenty will flee by ship and bring word to Kalim. And we can travel to Licata faster. I know the paths through the hills and mountains. I know the hidden ways better than anyone. By the second day, you will be ready to act.”

  With plans decided, Yngvar found a high and flat rock that was reasonably dry, then slept. The Byzantine scouts, accustomed to such a life, had already settled into sleep. Whether anyone else did, Yngvar was not sure.

  When he awakened, the moon was high and bright in the clear sky. The rain had cooled the air such that he had gooseflesh. He stretched, his joints stiff and aching. But he found everyone assembled and waiting for him.

  The scouts were in one group. Yngvar’s Wolves and the remaining Franks were in another. Between them, Saleet’s corpse had drained a wide pool of blood into the mud. He stared ashen-faced at the sky, dead eyes still wide with the terror of his final moments.

  “Thought you’d never wake up,” Bjorn said. “We’re going. Do you know what you’re doing yet?”

  “I hardly know what I’m doing until I’m doing it,” Yngvar said, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrists. “But I have a plan. Get Valgerd and run.”

  Thorfast laughed. “You know, we will have first claims on any treasure in the prince’s palace.”

  “Well, save me a trinket or two. But I promise, there’s greater treasures waiting for us ahead.” Yngvar clapped Thorfast’s back.

  “Separating again seems dangerous,” he said. “But your plans are never anything but dangerous.”

  “Only danger needs planning,” Yngvar said. “Now, go burn Licata. Hold Kalim there, and I will be along to help kill him. We just have to break the force surrounding Pozzallo first.”

  The two groups parted under the clear black sky, where the brilliance of the moon blotted out the stars.

  Yngvar led his small band with Alasdair, Ewald, and Gyna. Her knee had been wrapped and braced during the time Yngvar had slept. Yet descending the rocky hill in the dark caused her to slip and curse. They had to pause to let her recover. He wondered at the wisdom of bringing her, but she was not easily denied. Ewald supported her through the rough passages until they arrived at the base of the hills.

  “This is more heavily guarded than earlier,” Yngvar said as they arrived at the edge of camp.

  They crouched behind a dip in the earth. The cold mud seeped through the knees of Yngvar’s pants as he leaned on a wet rock. Yellow light cast from torches set on tall stakes surrounded the camp. Guards were posted at regular intervals. Without seeing them, Yngvar was certain more guards walked a circuit.

  The camp itself had recovered from the terrorizing fires he had set. Tents were easy to take down and set up. From where he stood, it seemed everything was as it had been.

  “The large tent in the center is Kalim’s,” Alasdair said. “Valgerd would have to be near it.”

  “Too many tents,” Ewald said. “If we check the wrong one, trouble.”

  “I agree with you,” Yngvar said. “We must remain unseen through all of this, or we’ll never reach Pozzallo. I wish I had not thrown off our disguis
es from earlier. They would’ve been perfect now.”

  “Well, disguises wouldn’t have been all that useful,” Gyna said. “It’s not like we could’ve walked up to one of them in disguise and just asked where Valgerd is held.”

  Yngvar leaned back from the rock and looked at Gyna.

  “That’s it.”

  She blinked. “What? You’re going to ask them where she is?”

  “No,” he said, smiling. “You are.”

  24

  The torches surrounding the Arab camp fluttered with the wind. Despite the clear skies, it had strengthened to strong gusts that wobbled the gray tents filling the circular camp. Bright moonlight revealed the outline of Pozzallo in the distance. Yngvar stared at its fuzzy outline. He had to get behind those walls with Valgerd and the rest.

  But first he needed to penetrate this Arab camp without raising an alarm. He pulled back behind the fold in the ground that lay in shadow beyond the ring of light from the camp.

  “This plan is going to get us killed,” Gyna said. “I should have went with Bjorn.”

  As soon as she spoke, she bit her lip and looked to Alasdair. His smooth, bright face shined in the moonlight.

  “I understand,” he said. “Yet it is a clever plan.”

  “Auntie, we take big chance and have big victory,” Ewald said, flexing his improved Norse. “Glory is good.”

  “But life is better,” Gyna said, pouting. Her hand wandered to her braced knee. The wrapping was held in place by two branches cut to size. She picked at the fresh-cut wood.

  “You’ve changed,” Yngvar said. “You used to love danger. Though I can’t fault you after all we’ve suffered. Anyway, do as we planned and we will be guided right to Valgerd.”

  “So you hope,” Gyna shimmed up to the edge of the fold and looked at the camp. “If anything goes wrong, I’m not holding back.”

  “I’m not asking for that,” Yngvar said. “Just act your part. The guards might be rough with you, but if you can endure it, I’m sure you’ll be taken to wherever Valgerd is held. They will not disturb any of the leaders while they sleep, especially after the day they’ve had.”

  Gyna stared at him, then unslung her sword and handed it to Yngvar. She kept a long dagger hidden at her hip beneath her pants.

  “I trust Ewald and Alasdair to stay hidden,” she said as she passed over the sword. “But I doubt you.”

  “I will do my best,” Yngvar said. “And I will stay away from all of you. Now, act before the sun rises. I want to be behind Pozzallo’s walls within the hour.”

  Gyna clambered out from their hiding place. Yngvar looked to Alasdair and Ewald, who both daubed their faces with mud. Alasdair was quiet and resolute, and did not even acknowledge Yngvar’s parting.

  He followed the fold to the left, where whoever had set torches had left a gap of darkness sized for a single man. He paused before it, patting both his sword and dagger to be sure both were loose in their sheaths.

  As planned, Gyna stumbled out of the darkness toward the guard leaning on his spear. The moment he saw her, he lowered the weapon. Gyna collapsed out of reach, then started moaning. Perhaps because Yngvar knew it was false, he expected the guard to see through her acting. Yet he seemed to accept her collapse. He looked around, and rather than raise an alarm called out to his nearest companions.

  Over years of observing guards, Yngvar discovered that guards everywhere were hesitant to raise an alarm unless the threat was plain. Though sounding an alarm was a guard’s basic duty, a false alarm earned him scorn and ridicule. So they always sought concurrence from their fellows.

  Now that two others had joined him, they approached Gyna carefully. They kept at spear’s distance. One prodded her with the blade and she yelped. It was probably genuine.

  Each one jumped at Gyna’s pained shout. They stood for a long time, frozen like surprised cats. Only their heads swiveled as they scanned the darkness for ambushers. At last they seemed satisfied, and one collected Gyna off the ground. The three conferred further, then two went with Gyna and one remained studying the darkness for other dangers.

  He smiled as Gyna hung limp between two Arabs trying to rush her into the camp. He imagined her irritation. She didn’t deserve the humiliation, but found his grin irrepressible nonetheless.

  The spot where Alasdair and Ewald had been remained dark. If either of them moved, Yngvar could not see it and he doubted the guard could either. The Arab still crouched with his spear lowered. He would probably pose like that for half the night, fruitlessly staring at where his enemies had been and never realizing they had all bypassed him. Ewald and Alasdair would move like ghosts.

  For his part, Yngvar trusted the shadows and sped after Gyna.

  He only had to follow at a distance. Even if she were taken directly to Kalim’s or Rashaad’s tents, he would not burst in until he had coordinated with Alasdair. While Yngvar had laid the plans, he knew Alasdair was the real leader of this leg of their task. Valgerd and he would be wed one day. Yngvar hoped for a rich wedding celebrated back in the north, with friends come from miles around to feast and celebrate their union. The place in the north and the friends he imagined were no longer. He had lost both when he left and would have to rebuild anew when he returned. A problem for a different day.

  Now he slid between tents, pausing and checking at each gap in the shadows. He stopped at murmured conversations floating out of the darkness. He shied from lamplight shining as a dull orange ball on a tent wall. But he never lost sight of Gyna.

  The two guards escorted her to a tent at the edge of a circular clearing that defined the center of camp. A large tent, almost big enough to be a hall, dominated the others. Inside would be Prince Kalim and his guardian monsters. But the tent was dark, and a single guard was posted outside. Though he stood leaning on a spear, Yngvar was certain he slept standing up.

  Gyna was dragged into a tent opposite the prince’s. Yngvar waited until he saw Alasdair and Ewald follow inside. The two were like lumps of shadow that broke from the darkness around both sides of the tent. The silver moonlight above cast harsh and deep shadow. Both men seemed to absorb it to themselves.

  Yngvar crouched, hand on his sword hilt. He held his breath. No light or sound came from within the tent. Two guards walking a circuit approached from the opposite side. They held a torch aloft between them.

  In the same instance, the tent flap opened again. From within, he saw Valgerd’s golden hair showing gray in the shadows.

  The guards were headed toward them. From their angle of approach, Alasdair and the others would not see them until too late.

  “Well, time to be of some use.”

  He burst out into the main circle, running as fast as his tired legs would allow. He saw Alasdair shove everyone into the tent again. His mud-covered face showed his eyes wide with surprise.

  Yngvar saw the two guards draw up and point at him. They called out, more angry than suspicious. But Yngvar did not pause. He fled into the shadows across the wide circle of the camp center.

  He heard the guards shouting after him.

  Still no alarm was raised. For all the guards knew, he might be a local come to steal from the camp. Yet they did not lower their voices, instead demanding for him to stop. At least he assumed that was the Arabic commands. They may well have been cursing him.

  The path ahead was clear. He followed his instincts, aiming for the opposite side of camp. The wind blew hard against him, shoving him along certain ways. The gods guided him.

  His foot slammed into something hard. It might have been a bucket or small cask. But the collision shot icy pain through his toes, and he stumbled. He crashed into the side of a tent, rebounding off it and landing on his back in the dirt.

  Shouts answered from within the tent. The guards calling out at him from behind grew nearer.

  Scrambling to his feet, he rose in time for one Arab to slip out of his tent and confront Yngvar. The dark shadow of a man scratching his head as if he had just awak
ened stood behind him. He spoke in hard, irritated notes. Yngvar fled.

  Now he had three Arabs following, one close enough to catch him. To stand and fight would end badly, he knew. So he sprinted for the opposite edge of camp. His side already stitched in pain, and he still had to make the run to the fortress walls.

  But the Arabs at his back kept his legs and lungs pumping.

  The ring of torchlight shined between the tents ahead. It seemed freedom was at hand.

  The closest Arab behind him began shouting. It drew the guards at the edge of the camp into Yngvar’s view.

  Two men with spears ready.

  He cursed, drew his dagger as his sword had shifted to his back after his earlier fall, and never stopped.

  Emerging from the darkness, the Arabs could not mark his approach. He cut left, stranding one guard behind his companion. This left only a single spear to avoid.

  As he reached the golden edge of torchlight, he leapt to the side of the spearman. Since the Arab had not seen him until too late, his strike was lazy and inaccurate. Yngvar batted it aside with his dagger blade.

  Only to have another guard step into his path.

  He could not avoid the Arab, so collided with him. Yngvar’s head cracked against the Arab’s. Both cried out in pain and surprise. The ground and moon spun around his sight. The Arab was before him, then gone. They had rolled a short distance down a shallow slope. The ground was cold and muddy from the downpour earlier, and so slid them far past where they should have landed.

  Now Yngvar leapt up. He felt the sword at his back tug him down again. Yet he had not lost his dagger. The Arab, however, had lost his spear. Its blade glinted brilliant moonlight up the gentle slope. The enemy’s dark shape reached for his own dagger.

  Then a crowd of dark shapes appeared behind him. The others had caught up.

  He turned to flee again. His side ached and his legs felt like lead. With every footfall, he expected a blade to catch him in the back.

  Yet he progressed toward Pozzallo. Its walls were slathered in silver light and crowned with dozens of torches.