“Don’t—”
“Just tell him,” Gyna snapped. She stood over Ewald, who pried up a smooth, triangular rock that fit into his palm.
Umar chuckled, then nodded.
“He wishes you luck. He will release me as soon as he can open the gates.”
So they began to hobble toward the guard tower. She staggered along the path, her knee sore. She watched the walls. At least one Byzantine paused to stare down at them. They both froze, and the Byzantine returned to staring out to the distance. The majority of men, Franks, former slaves, and Byzantines, watched the western wall facing the Arab camp. The gatehouse was dark but for a single torch atop it. Though a single torch did not indicate a single man.
“If we’re opening the gate,” she whispered to Ewald. “Then there are Arabs out there ready to enter. Can’t they see them? If an alarm goes up now, I think Valgerd will die.”
“Auntie, unless there is a single man in the tower, I can’t imagine taking on all these men with a rock. Even one will be a struggle.”
“I have a dagger,” she said. “But I’d rather not kill anyone. Just hold them back long enough to raise the grate. Umar will have to let go of Valgerd to open the doors for his friends.”
“He’ll just kill her,” Ewald said.
Gyna did not reply. Instead, she slid along the wall, across the barred gates, then to the gatehouse doors. With a nod to Ewald, they both opened the door, which was not itself barred.
The winch room was dark. No one was inside.
“What luck,” Gyna said in the darkness. “It’s just sitting unguarded.”
Ewald pointed silently up at the ceiling. A dull yellow light fell through an open trapdoor in the ceiling. It flickered with moving shadow.
She pulled Ewald close. “Keep them from getting down the ladder. I’ll work the winch. When it’s halfway up we’ll go out to get Valgerd. Don’t want to make it too easy on them.”
“Then what?”
“Kill Umar and shut the gate again.”
“With this rock?” Ewald held it up in the darkness. She wanted to slap his arrogant face, but he had a fair point. She had much to do with only a single dagger and Valgerd’s life between them.
They searched the darkness. A spear shaft with no head rested against the wall. Ewald took it and set his rock down.
Odin, Thor, she thought. I’ve never begged you for anything before. But I beg you now. Bring me success and I will sacrifice all I own to your glory.
Ewald crept up the ladder. She set the winch handle in place then looked to her nephew, who gave her the nod.
She wrapped both hands around the handle and began to reel in the portcullis chain. At first it pulled taut and resisted her. For an instant she feared she lacked the strength.
But the chain started. It clinked and chimed, and as she reeled it in the effort lessened. She cranked as hard as she could.
The response from above was instant. Shouts in Greek fell through the opened trapdoor. The light grew brighter. Someone looked into the opening. Ewald slammed him in the face with his spear shaft.
She reeled in the chain. Each crank was easier. Heavy stone counterweights hung by chains along the wall lowered. Soon it was as if no effort was needed to raise the portcullis. A child could do it.
Ewald stabbed into the trapdoor at the shouting men above.
“That’s enough,” she said. “It should be raised now. Let’s go.”
She kicked a stop into place. The chain slipped but caught and the door remained open.
“They’ll be able to close it easily,” Gyna said, smiling. “Truly luck is on our side.”
“Fire!”
Ewald flew away from the ladder, crashing into Gyna. He shoved her back against the wall in time with a torrent of blazing flames pouring through the trapdoor.
It whooshed into brilliant heat. Both she and Ewald had avoided the splashes, but now the entire base of the ladder and winch area were pitched into flames.
“Fools! They’ve trapped themselves up there!” Gyna stood but stumbled. Her knee buckled but Ewald caught her by the arm.
They both shrieked as the fire spread. It ran along the floor and wooden parts of the winch. Its heat tore at Gyna’s face. Ewald snatch up his rock, tried to grab at the spear shaft but it was lost to the fire, then ran for the door.
Gyna bounded out behind him.
Alarm horns sounded. Brassy gongs followed. To Gyna it felt as if Loki himself had opened a glowing eye above her. Every man on the wall looked down at her and Ewald.
“Shit! Let’s get Valgerd.”
Valgerd’s pale form danced before the gates. She struggled with Umar.
Bright blood flowed down her neck. Her hair, white in the moonlight, was stained black from her blood.
But the black-clad killer shoved her away and turned to the gates. He threw himself onto the bar. He strained to lift it, but it fell back into place.
Gyna’s heart soared. The little bastard was not going to get the bar off in time. The fort was swarming with men and every alarm was sounding. Yngvar had told her they had barely a hundred men here. But to her it now seemed like all the world had gathered behind these walls.
Valgerd recovered. Rather than flee like a sensible person, she leapt atop Umar’s back and scratched at his face. Gyna shouted at her. It felt as if she and Ewald were running in a different world where time had slowed to a drip. Everything else happened too fast. Valgerd screamed and clawed at Umar, tearing of this mask and head cover.
Umar was far stronger than he looked. He levered off the bar and the doors flew open.
Arabs had been on the other side waiting for this moment. Gyna had inadvertently provided the distraction they needed to get men close.
Now Umar sloughed off Valgerd like she had been no more than an old cloak. He sprang atop her.
The white edge of his blade flashed.
Gyna cried out. She was three strides distant, but she could never reach him in time.
Ewald grunted.
A soft thud sounded above the shouts and alarms. Then Umar fell back, hands over his face.
“I never miss!” Ewald shouted. “I swear it, Auntie!”
She laughed, staggering forward. Ewald had thrown the rock, the same one Umar had watched him unearth.
The gates opened behind prone Umar. Valgerd rose to her feet and Ewald reached her first.
Arabs in black robes charged through the entrance, ducking beneath the raised portcullis. Their cries were like vengeful ghosts come to tear away the souls of the living.
Gyna shoved Ewald and Valgerd ahead of her. “Go to our ship. Yngvar will protect it.”
Ewald nodded and hauled Valgerd along with him. Her neck still bled steadily into her shoulder. Gyna wondered if she would last.
But with screaming Arabs behind her, she had no time to worry.
She leapt after them.
Then her knee buckled. The loose splint snapped and fell away.
She collapsed.
And Ewald sped forward with Valgerd.
And the Arabs swarmed behind her.
Gyna grabbed her dagger and cried out.
“Valhalla!”
28
“Lord!”
Yngvar awakened to Alasdair’s shout. His eyes snapped open. A horrible dream spun screaming into the recesses of his mind. A more horrible sight hovered over him.
The veteran aide’s face glared down at him. Light like yellow paint showed on the raised edges of his hard face. But his eyes were wide with shock. His mouth hung open with an unvoiced shout.
Alasdair stood beside Yngvar’s bunk, his sword through the aide’s side. He ripped it out with a grunt and shoved the aide to the floor. The dagger he had gripped clattered beside him.
“What happened?”
Yngvar sprang up. Hot blood had flecked his arms, but most of the aide’s blood had spilled on the linen sheet covering him. The room was lit by a single brazier. Two guards had shot out of their be
ds as well, but they did not look toward Yngvar.
The brass warning gongs were sounding. A distant horn blasted.
Yngvar’s hands went cold. He heard the keening shouts of Arab warriors.
“We’re under attack?”
Alasdair stared at him, shaking his head.
“I was watching this one,” he said, kicking the corpse at his feet. “He had been acting suspicious since you were taken hostage. He planned to kill you and I acted just when he was about to strike.”
Yngvar glanced at the corpse. The aide had died without a sound and deserved his shameful passing. But beyond the door, the shouting grew louder. The two guards now turned back to him, saw Alasdair and wavered.
“Answer the alarm,” Yngvar said. “You hear what I hear.”
They gathered their armor and began to dress. Yngvar had nothing but his normal clothes, and slipped from his bed.
“Your sword.” Alasdair offered it to him. “I thought to hide in beneath your bed. But now you will have need of it. I do not know what happened out there.”
The door burst open and Captain Alexius entered. His face glistened with sweat and his short sword was tight in his hand.
“What has happened?” Yngvar asked.
“Bastard!”
Alexius charged at him.
In shock, Yngvar stepped behind the bed with Alasdair. He shouted for Alexius to stop, but his feet pounded across the wood floor. His yellow teeth shined in the low light.
The two other guards froze, half in their armor.
The captain kicked the bed, driving it into both Yngvar and Alasdair. Fortunately, the dead aide on the floor had acted as a stop. Instead, Alexius fell back. It gave Yngvar the space to draw his sword.
“Alexius, hold on. What is happening?”
“Traitor! You opened the gate.” The captain glanced over his shoulder toward the open door. Now the sounds of clanging iron reached him.
“I’ve been here all night.”
“Your people opened the gate. They love Kalim’s gold better than your life.”
Alexius jumped on the bed and kicked out at Yngvar’s face. His short sword flickered a hand’s breath from Yngvar’s neck. Yet neither connected and Yngvar stumbled back.
“You are mistaken,” he shouted. “None of us would open the gate.”
But Alexius had gone beyond reason. He dropped down from the bed, but did not see the corpse on the other side. Landing on it, his foot slipped and he stumbled flat.
Alasdair struck, plunging his sword into Alexius’s back.
The captain arched and screamed. Yngvar recoiled in horror.
But Alasdair shoved on the hilt with both hands, driving the sword through bone to pierce the captain’s heart from behind.
The two other guards had strapped on their armor, but had not finished. They stared in shock, but their revulsion was clear. Both backed away toward the doors.
“Why did you kill him?” Yngvar grabbed Alasdair’s hand and yanked it from the sword. “Now you’ve made us guilty in fact.”
“Lord, he was convinced of our guilt. And there’s a battle outside. Time for negotiation is long past.”
The two soldiers lay atop each other, proud Alexius bleeding over the corpse of his arrogant aide.
Outside, the alarms sounded and more voices joined the chaos.
“We need to find out what’s happening.” Yngvar paused to wear his boots. Alasdair shouldered a small pack.
Together they fled the main fort. Most men were stationed on the walls or in the main towers facing the Arab camp. They had only built trenches on one side. Had it been a ruse?
Now these defenders were streaming down from the walls or spilling from the tower doors. The parade ground was filled with a press of black-clad Arabs. Perhaps twenty. Maybe three times as many regular troops followed through the opened gate. The gatehouse door hung wide and chugged black smoke. Flames spun and leapt inside the first floor.
“Gods, someone did open the gate.” Yngvar looked to his ship.
“Lord, that is Ewald and he has Valgerd. She’s bleeding.”
Yngvar did not spot them in the madness of men rushing to the fight. Archers on the walls fired into the darkness, wasting their arrows. Others formed a line of defense to press the Arabs back. Moonlight shined atop a pool of iron helmets and spear points clashing together.
Alasdair had already run for their ship, and Yngvar followed. They came to the dry dock. Both Hamar and Nordbert were there, staring out in confusion as they stood upon the deck. Ewald handed Valgerd up to them. Her shoulder was soaked with blood and the ends of her hair were stained red.
Alasdair leapt onto the deck, snatching Valgerd away from Hamar.
Yngvar ran to Ewald.
“What going on? Where’s Gyna?”
Ewald’s face was red and sweat covered. “She’s not behind me?”
He turned and staggered back at what he saw, whether it was for Gyna being missing or the number of Arabs in the fortress was not clear.
“How did the gate open?”
“We opened it,” Ewald said. “We had to.”
“What?” Yngvar only realized his raised hand held a sword when the torchlight reflected off it. Ewald cowered. He had no weapon of his own. He shook his head and lowered the sword.
“You’ll explain later. Where’s Gyna?”
Ewald pointed at the Arabs. “In there. I’ve got to get her.”
This was too much even for Yngvar to grasp. How had Kalim achieved this? Yngvar was pressed to the far wall from the open gate, and enemies streamed in while the gatehouse burned.
“Protect the ship,” he said too Ewald. “Hamar, call the alarm. Get all the men back here.”
Hamar had already retrieved his horn and now blew sharp, short notes to draw the crew back to the ship. Most of the Franks on the wall ran for the ship out of instinct rather than toward the fray. That was the Byzantine’s fight, and the chaos in moonlight could not encourage them into a losing battle.
“What madness is this?”
One-Eye swung Yngvar around by the shoulder. Lucas the Byzantine stood behind him. One-Eye’s crew gathered to him. Lucas’s band of former slaves were filing down with the Franks.
“They say you killed the captain and opened the gates?” Lucas asked, disbelief clear on his face.
“I killed him, only because he tried to kill me. I did not open the gates. I don’t know how it happened. But we must get out of here. Bring all your men together. I have an idea.”
“I’m not throwing in with a traitor,” One-Eye shouted. His dark and scraggly crew agreed.
“Decide as you like when you know the facts,” Yngvar shouted back. “But now we have to sail the roughest seas either of us have ever faced. You want to get to the water? To sail to Licata and burn it down in revenge? Then do as I say. It’s our only chance.”
One-Eye backed away but did not respond. Yngvar turned away and directed his men toward their ship. He watched the battle with a wary eye. Ahead of them the Byzantines had formed a defensive wall. It held but would not last if the Arabs continued to enter in numbers. Eventually, their lives would all be spent. Yngvar knew they would die to the last man. Even without a captain to direct them, these cornered soldiers would maintain discipline.
Somewhere in the Arab force’s rear Kalim had to be waiting. He would follow the real warriors to claim the spoils like the coward he was. It was too early for word of Licata’s burning to have reached him. But Yngvar would wait for him there.
He swore it.
The Franks and slaves had gathered around the ship, engaging Arabs that had slipped past the soldiers. But as expected, these Arabs were untrained and fought like bandits rather than soldiers. The Byzantines were already shoving the Arabs toward the gates.
“Listen to me,” Yngvar said. “Raise the ship on your shoulders. We will form a swine-head, just like breaking a shield wall. We will charge it into the heart of these Arabs. Our ship will knock them aside
. Fifteen men carry the ship, and the rest guard them. Some of us will fall. We cannot stop. We must go toward the sea and find our freedom. The gate is open. Fate has shown us the path. Now to sail the human tide and leave blood in our wake.”
The Franks were frightened but they roared defiance. He repeated the plan to One-Eye and Lucas. One-Eye seemed to protest, but the Byzantine resistance had faltered and the battle drew closer to them. He had a choice to follow or fight.
“You go first,” he shouted over the ringing of iron and the screams of battle.
“I will follow,” Lucas the Byzantine said. “I want to die free and so do my brothers.”
Yngvar stood at the front of his ship. Ewald stood beside him. They nodded to each other.
“My auntie,” he said.
“We’ll find her.” Yngvar raised his sword. The men behind groaned and hoisted the ship on their shoulders. There was a short distance to charge, but once they had speed, their hull would batter aside anyone in their path.
“For gold and glory!”
He roared as he charged at the back of the Byzantine line. They had no allies now.
A sharp wedge of Franks followed him. Lucas’s slaves either shouldered the ship or else protected the bearers.
Yngvar slammed into the rear of the Byzantine ranks, calling out for them to make way. He did not cut at them needlessly. He still hoped for their victory, though none would ever call him a friend now. Yet if a soldier pointed his spear at him, Yngvar hacked the fool aside.
His analogy of a human sea was apt. For all around waves of men broke aside. The weight of the ship behind them caused men to flail away both in fear and disbelief. Though he could not see it from the front, Yngvar knew One-Eye’s larger ship multiplied their force.
The Arabs in black must have been Kalim’s troops, for though they retreated in the face of the approaching ships, they did not break their ranks. Yngvar met one man sword to sword. Ewald was at his side, fighting where Alasdair should have stood. Together they swiped away hands and arms that sought to impede them. Blood covered them. Yngvar took a gash to his ribs, something that would have been turned aside by a good mail coat. Instead, his shirt flapped open to reveal a bloody wound.
The Red Oath Page 27
